Deceptive Beauty
by skinnyrita
Summary: COMPLETE Unsettling short story based mainly in Malfoy Manor. Slightly Gothic, intregated with some humor, romance and tragedy. With some HermioneDraco and DracoOFC. Not very good summary I suggest you read it! Reviews please.
1. Chap 1

**Dear readers (cough) finally I have written a chaptered story that is actually finished! Hurrah! Do Please review, I haven't done this genre before. Parental guidance for under 10s just to be safe as managed to spook myself out writing parts of this (live in very large creaky house myself). This is set in Malfoy Manor in the aftermath of Lucius' arrest -I'd say in the final year at Hogwarts.**

**Disclaimer (applying to the whole sorry story): I do not own Hermione, Draco, Narcissa or indeed Malfoy Manor. I did manage to get creative and think up the interior and a few other characters. Other sources not belonging to me are various works of poetry and prose quoted throughout, and the 'Acaste' which A Level French students will recognise from 'Le Misanthrope' by Moliere. Thankyou. ****

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**Deceptive Beauty.**

**A Short Story by SkinnyRita.**

**Part one: Intelligent Conversation.**

Draco Malfoy sat in the only bar in Knockturn Alley.

The only serviceable bar that he could bear to be accidentally seen in, should the tragedy arise. In truth there were many bars, but these were dumps haunted by goblins and banshees. As he tapped out a depressed rhythm against the short, wide glass the three white-gold rings on his right hand made a steady clink, clink, clink. The burly old warlock who was serving tonight ground his teeth at the thought of repairing hundreds of tiny chips in his crystal-ware.

He was sitting alone. Mercifully at the bar, but that wouldn't always guarantee a chat with anyone. Not that it mattered. Most of the Knockturn locals weren't famed for their intellectual capacity in any case. But tonight, he had to admit, he'd been in the mood for a little of that –intelligent conversation. That was hard to find.

He'd taken to frequenting the bars occasionally since he was sixteen –after his father had been dragged kicking and cursing off to Azkaban, and he, Draco, was a laughing stock. Now that he was of age and I.D had become less of an issue, the stool hopping had become more frequent. There wasn't exactly anyone at home who was in the state to miss him right now. He snorted at the bitter thoughts circulating his brain and ordered another drink to bury his head in. He was so lost that he didn't notice anyone sit next to him until they spoke.

"Malfoy?"

Draco blinked and looked sideways. After staring blankly for a minute he raised his hand and lit a cigar. One of his father's not so private stash. Nearly all gone. Very expensive. He inhaled on it for a moment, then said, "Granger, what the bloody _Hell_ are you doing in here?"

"I have a life."

"Which involves Knockturn Alley? I didn't take you for a hooker."

"Piss off Malfoy …I came to buy a book. And now I'm having a drink. What are you doing here anyway? Get that smoke out of my face."

Draco eyed her, then leaned over and paid for her drink. She didn't thank him, which for some reason pleased him. Five minutes passed in silence as they concentrated on the general hubbub of the bar and the clinking of glasses.

"Where are you going?"

Hermione glanced up. She'd slid down off the bar stool and was shrugging on her coat again. She downed the rest of her drink and said, "The Leaky Cauldron. Dodgy place, Knockturn Alley, don't want people making the same mistake as you –hooker-wise."

Draco looked at the stump of his cigar and stubbed it out. Making a split-second decision, he leapt to his feet and grabbed the retreating girl by the arm. "I'll walk you, Granger. Can't have a lady being accosted down here."

"Malfoy what _are_ you doing?"

"Unfortunately for myself, and perhaps for yourself, I find it hard to believe at present that I will likely be able to find a more intelligent conversationalist at this hour. I am rather drunk, to say the very least, and fancy a natter on the dubious subject of cross-curricular Potions and Transfiguration. I believe you may be proficient in both."

By the time Hermione had digested this, Malfoy had begun pulling her after him with the certainty of the very, very drunk, and they had stepped out into the night.

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Draco cautiously opened his eyes. He had an absolutely blinding hangover. Hermione was sprawled next to him, using way over half the bed in a tangle of limbs and curly hair. Draco frowned. 'Uh-oh,' he thought, then registered that they were both still wearing their clothes of the previous night, which were luckily not too badly rumpled. 'Aha,' he thought, triumphantly, 'I didn't sleep with her then. Good.'

He peered over the edge of the bed. It was littered with oddly shaped vials containing half-made potions, one of which was smoking dangerously. Clearly they had tried to make something, but Draco couldn't remember what. He chuckled quietly to himself –making potions was always something he got up to when drunk –inexplicably. There was a firewhiskey bottle with just over a measure left in it. He swigged from it and made a face. Beside him he felt Hermione jolt awake.

"Huh? Huh? Oh my _God, what did we do?_" she exclaimed.

"I'd say, got drunk, tried to invent a super-potion, then passed out," he drawled, swinging his legs over the bed and trying to stand more or less upright. "Now, where's my bloody coat...?" He began to stumble around, searching, stepping over the scattered potions and the ruined cauldron they had obviously tried to make them in. "Aha," he muttered, as he came across the garment crumpled up on a chair and began to shake the offending creases out of it.

"Are you going? Oh, my head."

Draco paused and turned back. Hermione was lying on the bed with her hands clamped over her eyes. He was a bit stuck for what to say, the only conversation he'd had with her being whilst drunk. "Afraid so, Granger. Much as I'd simply love to entertain you more with my charms, I should get back."

"You're a nasty little ferret who gets girls drunk," said Hermione, surprisingly matter-of-fact. Draco narrowed his eyes and put his coat on.

"We didn't do anything, Granger."

"_Good_!" she said, more forcefully.

"Fine. I was going to ask if you needed any assistance. Me! A Pureblood giving help to filth like you! See you at school."

By the time Hermione had recovered her wits and sat up to retort, the boy had gone.

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	2. Chap 2

**Part two: the Transfiguration Homework.**

Weeks passed and Hermione fell into the steady routine of school life once more. September became a wet and windy October. She had almost completely forgotten her encounter with Malfoy when she had been in London. They had never mentioned it, never exchanged knowing looks –why should they, they hardly knew each other and were certainly not on speaking terms. Sometimes it popped to the front of her mind for an instant, when Malfoy had insulted her in the corridor, or made a remark in Potions, but generally, it was as if the incident that had begun in grudging companionship and ended in spite had never happened. She had been so uncharacteristically drunk that night; she even doubted sometimes that it _had_ happened.

Draco had not forgotten anything.

"_You're a nasty little ferret who gets girls drunk."_

That phrase was really starting to piss him off. It had been right there, nagging at him since he had stormed out of their room in The Leaky Cauldron and flooed back to the manor before anyone even realised he'd been there. Every time he saw Granger, he could hear her saying that and to own the truth it had _hurt_. Now every time he saw her in the corridor, always flanked by Weaselbee, snarling at him like a protective guard dog, he couldn't stop himself from finding an insult, any insult. If she didn't confront him soon he was going to go crazy. He couldn't stop thinking about the details of _that night_, half of which were still obscured by his intoxication and no amount of sitting and wondering, pacing and cursing was going to bring those moments back.

He was angry because the fact that he couldn't remember, and that unlike Hermione he _wanted_ to remember, had made him dwell on her more and more over the autumn term. It was beginning to affect his work in the lessons they shared.

What was making it even worse was that through it all she was remaining completely impassive. Had she blanked the encounter completely? Surely not, that would be impossible. But the more Draco tried to make her notice him, try to get her to look at him, to see that glint in her eye that meant that she also was thinking and wondering: the more she seemed to blank him out. He was beginning to think, despite his insults and her ever-ready wit to counter them, that to her he was slowly becoming completely invisible.

HOWEVER.

Two weeks before the half term Halloween break (A/N: in Britain we have these for a week, I don't know if they do anywhere else, and they don't usually at Hogwarts but it's needed for the plot), the Slytherins and Gryffindors were sharing their Tuesday afternoon Transfiguration class with Professor McGonagall. They had started at last the most difficult and advanced spells, which meant that lessons were a chore for most people, particularly Neville, who at one point transformed his own foot into a strange toaster-like object that sent scorches up his leg.

"Your attention please," said McGonagall, as the last of the Slytherins filed reluctantly into her room, Draco amongst them. He had almost considered skipping the lesson, but decided at the last minute that the wrath of McGonagall facing a failed spell was better than the wrath of McGonagall facing a student caught skipping her class. "As you know, the Halloween break is nearly upon us, and that though I am well aware it is a time for relaxation, you yourselves will be aware that for Outstanding NEWT results, which of course I believe you are _all_ capable of, you must continue to apply yourselves." She paused for breath. The students glanced nervously at each other. They had already been given three challenging potions to analyse over the holiday week from Snape, and knowing him they would not be easy to study.

"The reason that I mention this now, is that in the next week we will be busy with the matter of human transformation, a process that I cannot allow myself, for general safety, to set you for your homework. The school will of course be in celebrations for the Halloween feast the night before you depart, and I therefore feel, that it is best to use this lesson to explain to you exactly what you have to do, and answer any questions. Are there any so far? Good. Please take out our quills and a piece of parchment, I will need you to record very precisely the project I wish you to undertake."

Draco leant forward and dipped his black quill into the inkpot in front of him. Glancing across the room he saw Hermione load her quill and fix the professor with her rapt attention.

"In your summer exam you will be asked one very difficult, but important question, based on your skill of both Transfiguration and improvisation," said McGonagall, speaking very slowly, hovering nearer to Neville's bench to see if he was getting it down right. "Let me explain: in the situation of an emergency or duel, particularly if you plan to begin auror training after leaving the school, (here Draco noticed her give Potter a brief nod) you may not be able to find a spell matching your requirements on the spur of the moment." She paused again to let the stragglers catch up. The rapid scratching of quills filled the room for a moment.

"In such a situation, it may be necessary to form a spell from the thoughts of need that have suddenly entered your head. By doing this, though you are not inventing new spells, the spell that you require should emerge from your wand as if you actually managed to find the right words at the right time. Let me explain. Mr Thomas, come to the front please."

Everyone's eyes were on Dean as he walked hesitantly out to the front with McGonagall. "Come on I'm not going to hurt you," she said impatiently. Dean blushed. "Face this cupboard, Thomas. Wand out. Now, whatever comes out of this cupboard, I want you to concentrate all your efforts on repelling it by focusing your emotions on your wand. Can you do that? Of course you can."

The class recoiled. But when McGonagall opened the cupboard, all that came out was a little bat. It went straight for Dean's face so quickly that he didn't have time to react, but though he hadn't spoken, a little jet of red light shot out of his wand and clipped the bat's wing. "Immobilous," said McGonagall quickly, freezing the bat in mid air. It blinked at Dean sadly. "Very good Thomas, you may sit down now." He did so, and there was a brief pause while McGonagall returned the bat to its cupboard, unfreezing it just as she shut the door. They could hear it squeaking for the rest of the lesson.

"As you saw, the immediate reaction of Thomas was to injure the bat, his attacker. Without time to speak, however, in a duel you must be ready to use force of mind to control your wand. This skill is what makes a good wizard a _great_ wizard, and just practicing will improve your skills not only in defence, but in Transfiguration also. Please take down the last part of your task."

Draco leant forward again. He noticed that Hermione had been scribbling away while the professor talked, recording every last precious detail.

"Your task over the holidays is that using the task we have demonstrated, you will practice with a partner to first hone your skill with the power between your mind and your wand, and then to enact this power in a series of duels. I trust you all greatly in setting this as a homework assignment. I trust you all are mature enough not to do intentional harm to your partner, no matter who you are placed with. This task when practiced is not only a test of power, but also a test of responsibility. When you return after the break I want you all to be competent enough to repel whatever else I put in this classroom, and if you are particularly gifted, to have begun to master the basics of Transfiguration through this technique. The texts for this can be found in chapters seven to twelve of your textbooks. Questions? Mr Malfoy."

A few Gryffindors in the front row spun round to look at Draco, daring him to scorn such an important assignment. He lowered his hand, and said most politely: "how are our partners chosen and how often will we have to meet during the week?"

McGonagall gave him a thoughtful look for a moment, then a shadow of a smile. "You will be required to meet with your partner every day. This is advanced magic that requires meticulous practice. For those of you who will be partnered with a student who lives far from you, unless you are able to floo backwards and forwards I suggest that temporary guest arrangements be made. I hope you all understand that this should be taken as an opportunity to settle differences," she said pointedly, addressing them all but never taking her eyes off Draco. He raised his chin proudly. He would show her his maturity is it killed him. She approached his bench, taking up a small wooden box as she passed her desk. It was filled with small folded-up pieces of paper. "Mr Malfoy, you may take first pick," she said graciously.

Draco swallowed and tossed his hair back off his face defiantly before plunging in a hand and rummaging around. Please let it be Goyle. Crabbe caused marginally more accidents. He didn't trust anyone other than them to be in his house at the moment. He came away with a small piece of parchment that had been folded twice to make it impossible to cheat. McGonagall whipped it from his grasp so that he couldn't read a false name even if he wanted to.

"Ah, Hermione Granger," she said, sounding very satisfied.

Hermione, who had not been one of the Gryffindors to turn his way, whipped round and caught his gaze straight in the eyes. And he knew she had not forgotten their encounter after all.

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Draco cleared his throat. "Granger, do you have a moment?"

It was three days before the Half Term break and after avoiding her for a week and half he had finally come to a painful but practical decision. Ron was in his face immediately, like a vicious dog, hackles raised.

"What do you want with her? Want me to stay Hermione?"

Draco glanced back into the Potions lab they had come from but Snape seemed to have left. He took a careful step back from Weasley, trying not to make it look too obvious. Sending Crabbe and Goyle on ahead may have been a mistake if Weasley wanted trouble. Draco wasn't a fool, he knew that Weasley was towering over him, and very willing to use any force necessary if he thought he was a threat to Granger.

"It's okay Ron, you go on ahead. Go on, I'll meet you in the common room, I've got to get all these books back in here anyway," said Hermione gently, trying to cram a book into her back, then trying to rearrange the ones already straining the stitching. Ron frowned but after contemplating that if anyone could defend herself it was probably Hermione, he backed off again.

"I've warned you," he muttered to Malfoy, before sloping off.

Hermione let out an exasperated breath and tipped the contents of her bag onto the floor before trying to arrange them all again. "What is it?" she asked, distractedly.

"Our project. The Transfiguration one."

"Yes, I know which one. Damn, I'm sure these all fitted this morning…"

"Yes. I needed to ask you – I needed to say – Granger, if we have to work together, you would have to stay in the manor."

Hermione dropped the book on magical eggs and their birth reasons, and glanced round at him. Her face was alarmingly angry. "And why is that?" she spat, "muggles not good enough for you Malfoy? Well let me tell you, my parents are no less important than yours, and our house is no less acceptable for magical practices."

Draco felt suddenly enraged. The fact that Granger's parents were muggles had not been even part of his reason. "Oh that's right Granger, play that game, you always do. Maybe there's something more important to me right now than whether your bloody parents own a wand! I actually _bothered_ to think about this assignment, though just _why_ I did is beyond me. Do you even _have_ connection to the floo network Granger? Have you any idea at all where my house is?"

"Well…_no, _and _no,_" Hermione conceded, "but if that's not the reason than why is it? There are plenty of places outside our homes where we could do this."

Draco looked away from her; his eyes were burning with hot anger. Anger and fear. Because now it was crunch time and he would have to tell her why he needed to stay at home so badly. He took a breath, then mumbled something incomprehensible. He jumped. Hermione's hand had touched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Say that again?"

He turned on her, and she recoiled. He looked white with hate. "I said, Granger, that I have to go home and look after my mother."

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	3. Chap 3

**Part three: The Ward. **

It was dark when they reached Malfoy manor. The wind was sweeping in infrequent gusts over the tall trees shielding the estate. Hermione didn't like it. Her hair whacked round her face and stung her eyes. After much deliberation and a painful argument they had hailed the Knight Bus, and not spoken again for the entire journey. The floo network at the manor had been unserviceable after Lucius' arrest, and without their apparation licences they had no other option but to board the rickety three-storey death trap.

They walked in hostile silence up the long driveway, passing creepy stone statues that seemed to blink owlishly at them as they trudged by, levitating their cases before them. The house was tall and imposing with a small turret. Hermione glanced up and noticed owls swooping in and out with mice dangling from their curved beaks, screeching eerily to each other. Draco left his luggage, and his guest, at the bottom of the high front steps while he approached the heavy double doors, one half of which had opened as he drew near.

"Come on, Granger."

The wind was so wild at that moment that she barely heard him. She considered trying to heave the small suitcase of clothes and trunk of books and equipment up those imposing stairs and decided to leave them there. As she reached the door a little house elf slipped out and beckoned to the luggage, which sailed past her and disappeared up a staircase. She heard the door slam behind her and they were engulfed in silence again.

Malfoy was talking off his gloves and coat and hanging them on a large ornate coat stand. Hermione shrugged off her battered anorak and followed suit, careful not to pass anything to the house elf by mistake. After the loss of Dobby, she didn't think Malfoy would take very kindly to her letting his servants skip off one by one. Her host had drawn the house elf into a corner so have a whispered conversation, so she took the opportunity of looking around at the large entrance hall. It was dark and gloomy, only partly lit by an ancient oil lamp hanging in a far corner, which cast a green-grey glow over everything. From a closed door to her left, a beam of yellow light snaked underneath and cast a white, long rectangle on the polished wooden floor. Somewhere, either from the room or from the floor above, or perhaps both, there was a low humming of voices. Turning right, to look past Malfoy, she almost jumped in shock at her own reflection in an enormous mirror, with unlit candles either side of it and a silver frame with a curious twining motif of vines and snakes. It reminded her of Voldemort and made her shiver. It was very cold and she regretted taking off her coat. Had courtesy not dictated her to do so, she would rather have left it on, and asked for a scarf. Malfoy, however, seemed completely oblivious to the cold.

"There's a table in the lounge," said Draco, breaking his guest from her reverie. "I'd offer you a seat in the dining room, of course," he mentioned, quickly, as if she thought he was doing her some hideous social injustice, "but they haven't lit the fire in there yet."

"Um, okay," she acquiesced, thinking that when she was at home she's have been eating good muggle food off a plate balanced on her knees while she watched 'Wife Swap' with her parents right now, and wondering if Malfoy ate in the dining room every night.

Draco made a movement as if to take Hermione's arm but then thought he'd better not, and led her over to the door where the light was streaming out. He knocked softly. Hermione could hear a soft, low voice saying, "_…Singing in her song she died, the Lady of Shallot…_" The voice stopped speaking and they heard a whispered murmur before someone approached the door. Hermione registered that Malfoy was slightly shaking. She expected a house elf to appear on the threshold, or perhaps even his mother, but the girl who opened the door had thick, waist length, slightly matted-looking black hair, and was wearing a black dress that in style looked almost Victorian. She had pale, cupid-bow lips and big black eyes and looked very tired.

"Hello, Andromeda," said Draco, quietly, and took her hand and kissed her fingers as if he was a gentleman and she was a rich Lady and they were living some centuries ago. Hermione found it very strange that a wizarding house seemed so backward in the times that they always ate in the dining room and now had to adopt some strange social code of quiet decorum.

"Hello, Malfoy," said the girl, who looked about their age. Her voice was just as low and soft as if had been while she was reading, and there was a naïve sort of innocence in her looks.

"This is Hermione Granger," said Draco. Hermione shook hands with the girl, who looked at her carefully in case she didn't like what she saw. Her hands were like ice. "Gra-Hermione, this is Andromeda Fawcett, mother's ward."

"Oh," said Hermione, greatly surprised. She'd thought that the pale girl must be a relative who was staying. Malfoy had not mentioned anything to her about his mother housing a protégé, or having any dependants at all. "Pleased to meet you." Andromeda smiled shyly and put her hands behind her back. She stepped back and let Malfoy into the room. He hesitated, then strode in as if approaching some terrible ordeal he had to get over with quickly.

"Mother?" he said. His voice wavered a little. Hermione stayed back, though she was curious. Andromeda motioned for her to sit in a chair that was by a side table. She sat and took the chance to take in the lounge. It was a large, imposing and uncomfortable room with high arched windows that were segregated with lead, and she wondered how old the house was. The fireplace, which was mercifully lit, was enormous and ornate, with candlesticks placed in rigidly symmetrical patterns on the mantelpiece. The side panels had been painstakingly carved with dragons and snakes, which formed beautiful curling configurations and flickered in the warm orange light.

Along one wall there was a bookcase as tall as it was long, filled with dusty volumes, long unread. Hermione itched to get her hands on those books, to look at the titles, to absorb everything they held, even if they held dubious subjects. But for now she sat still. She kept reminding herself that she had a whole week here and other opportunities to investigate the fascinating house.

The floor was made from cold, uneven stone slabs, quite improper for a normal sitting room, but they had been covered over as far as possible with beautifully woven rugs, that looked new and lovingly maintained by the house-elves. They were decorated with dragons and phoenixes and unicorns, but in warm, rich colours: reds, gold, greens and blues that were so alive that if the images had moved she would not have been surprised.

The chair she was sitting in was padded and beautiful, red and gold, embroidered with strange symbols that even she didn't know, but it gave her comfort to find some Gryffindor colours in a house so far away from anything she had knowledge of. Hers was not the only table. There was a low coffee table supported by some kind of stuffed legs, a lectern with a book open on it, armchairs, a low couch and some more chairs the same as hers that looked as if they should belong in The Tower of London with 'please do not sit' signs across the seats.

"Mother?" Hermione glanced up when she heard Malfoy speak again. She had been so absorbed in the room that she hadn't noticed him approach the largest armchair, dark green shot with blue, slightly turned to the window. "Mother? Mother can you hear me? It's me, it's Draco."

Narcissa Malfoy gazed unseeingly out of the window, blocking out the sound. Maybe she didn't even hear him. "Mother, it's Draco, I'm home again," said Draco more urgently, conscious of the gazes of the two girls on his back. He reached out and rustled her sleeve with the knuckle of his index finger. She turned.

"It's me, Draco."

There was a pause. Hermione glanced at Andromeda. She had moved back to the lectern and was pretending to read her poetry while she sneaked glances at the exchange before them. Narcissa blinked at her son slowly, then said, "Lucius?" Her voice was thin and reedy, as if it had not been used in a very long time, but full of false hope. Hermione heard the other girl breathe in, like a warning.

"No, mother, it's me Draco." Said Draco, teeth audibly gritted, "I'm here for the week. Here with you, and I brought a – a friend, with me." As if performing some hideous formal social task on an ancient aunty, he raised his mother's hand and kissed it. Hermione felt a deep sense of sorrow, and a rush of sympathy. The space behind her eyes reserved for storing tears began to ache, and she realised that for once in her life, she felt _sorry_ for Malfoy.

Narcissa dropped her hand and turned back to the window. Malfoy's heart sank to his belly and lay there struggling for air. "Draco," she said, and her voice was filled with disappointment. She did not speak again.

Draco hovered by the chair for a moment. Hermione dropped her gaze to her clasped hands and listened. She heard footsteps and then glanced up in time to see Draco's retreating back leave the room, and leave her with the girl who was too shy to speak to her, and the woman too heartbroken to acknowledge her own son. She fidgeted, wondering what to do. As if to divert her attention, a house elf suddenly appeared at her side rolling a small trolley. The house elf, who looked very old, was wearing a tea towel like a tunic which was pristinely white, and had a squashed face like a mole's. He quickly laid the small table without conversation, and placed covered dishes on it. She noticed that there were two places set and wondered if she'd have to eat with Andromeda. Against her better nature she suddenly hoped wouldn't. She thanked the house elf, who looked absolutely appalled by the gesture, and wondered whether she should wait for the ward to sit down.

She was just about to attack one of the dishes, as she was very hungry and Andromeda was making no move towards the table, when Draco re-entered. His face was pale and blotchy and there was no mistaking that he had been crying. He sat down and said, "Granger, I didn't expect you to wait for me. Andromeda, do you want some food?"

"I have eaten, thank you, Malfoy," came the quiet reply.

Hermione leaned forward and uncovered one of the dishes, which was an array of seasonal vegetables –potatoes, carrots, swede and runner beans. They gave off an incredible aroma. Malfoy uncovered some pork chops and to her surprise seemed to be waiting for her to start. He watched her as she loaded her plate slowly.

"You don't need to wait for me, you know," she said, incredulous that he was standing on so much ceremony for 'Granger the Mudblood'.

Malfoy looked scandalised. "You're a girl!" he said.

"Oh! Oh, well, I don't mind, you know, Harry and Ron never wait for me when I'm staying with them," said Hermione uncomfortably, feeling bad about ratting out her friends to their enemy, but also awkward about Malfoy's strange manners. She was sure that at school she had never seen him act with such finesse, and she was certain that even if he treated others like that, he had never extended such courtesy to _her_. She remembered him buying her the drink in Knockturn Alley and felt guilty.

To her surprise he gave a low chuckle. "I won't then, Granger. It's just this house. I'm used to having to do things a certain way here. This is… a very old family." Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she concentrated on chewing with her mouth closed while she glanced again at the tremendous bookcase. Malfoy poured them red wine and she sipped it. It was a good year, aged but not too far, Oaky but not too heavy, with an aftertaste of blackberries and underlying smell of something indefinable. Something very expensive. The rustle of Andromeda's gown broke her reverie. She had left the lectern and was about to leave the room, presumably for bed.

"Andromeda, wait," Malfoy called, and abandoned his plate. Hermione twisted in her chair and caught a glimpse of them standing just to the side of the open doorway: secret aristocracy. The picture they made together enthralled her. Malfoy looked so much richer, and so gentlemanly in his own house. Andromeda was suddenly transformed into a strange, glowing beauty. She strained her ears to hear their conversation.

"Goodnight, Andromeda," she heard Malfoy say. His voice had turned gentle and steady, almost loving, and his lips came down on her knuckles again like a prince from a forgotten time. The manor and its inhabitants seemed so old fashioned that they were magic –not only in the literal sense, which was obvious, but the whole atmosphere brimmed over with forgotten mystery.

"_Goodnight, sweet prince_."

"You read too much literature. Your quotations will soon be lost on me."

"Then, you don't read enough."

Hermione slammed back into her chair again and picked up her fork as Malfoy made a courtly bow to the ward and returned to the table. Hermione's plate betrayed her –the gravy had formed a skin, but Malfoy didn't notice, and just finished his dinner in silence.

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	4. Chap 4

**Part four: The Most Magnificent Manor of The Malfoy Tradition.**

When Hermione awoke it was still dark outside due to the shortening winter days. Although her light-up watch told her it was half past seven (she was still in school time in her head), when she opened one of the heavy window curtains she was confronted with a grey expanse of shadow; too dark still to look down on the estate. She turned back to the room, shivering slightly in her grey cotton pyjamas. A house elf must have been in to re-build the fire, and though she strongly opposed the morals behind the source she moved closer to it gratefully as it crackled in the grate. She had had little opportunity look at the room she had been given the night before. After dinner it had been late and awkward, and Malfoy had seemed keen to get away from her, so when he had suggested turning in she had been glad. A house elf had led her upstairs and through a gloomy corridor. She had not seen where Malfoy's own room was, so she had no idea where he was, or even how to get back to the lounge. She decided it would be best to stay put for a while.

She panicked slightly, her skin crawling all over with creeping suspicions when she found that her trunk was empty, but found her clothes in the top two drawers of a large black and silver chest under one of the windows. She frowned. House elves would not have touched her clothes. Perhaps Malfoy had other servants she didn't know about –she had no doubt after witnessing even a small hint of the manor's grandeur the night before that they could more than afford it. Unless Andromeda had been in her room… she had nothing to dislike in the Ward, but would rather that the former was the case. Slightly perturbed by the transferral of her luggage, she pulled on a mauve cowl-neck jumper, and was about to put on a pair of jeans when she decided she should opt for a floor length black skirt. Malfoy's mother may have ignored her so far, but she knew that _he_ would certainly have a remark to make if she went parading around in her more obviously muggle clothing.

It was quite a large room. Thankfully with a normal double bed rather than a four-poster or it could've been decidedly creepy. She had felt a little spooked being in such a large, ancient, dark house the night before. She had suddenly recalled 'The Others' which she had seen during the summer, and though she knew from her experiences at Hogwarts that she had nothing to fear from ghosts, nevertheless she'd had trouble getting to sleep. However, once she had got to sleep, despite her body clock being in school time, she really hadn't wanted to wake up. The room turned out to be surprisingly comfortable.

It was now eight. It was almost fully light. She returned to the window. The Malfoy estate stretched out for miles around. There were woodlands on one side and three quidditch rings across a field. A maze-like network of small gardens stretched away from her. She turned back to the room and inspected it. It was light and airy when it wasn't shrouded by curtains, with cream walls and a scarlet bedspread –mercifully without the habitual snake motif anywhere in sight. It had been a good choice –almost Gryffindor style. Through a side door she found an en-suite bathroom. It wasn't particularly modern, but it was clean and elegant and… expensive looking.

After washing there wasn't much else for her to do. Her trunk of books seemed to have been dispatched elsewhere, and she felt a sudden pang for them. If she loved anything, it was her books. There were three older tomes in the room, but two detailed dark magic, and one was a quidditch manual from the last century, so clearly they had not been read recently. She decided to try to find her way to the lounge –how hard could it be to find her way down to the ground floor?

But there were many staircases in the manor. Thankfully, as all the curtains were open and the oil lamps lit, it was easy to find the main routes. She passed some smaller, darker corridors and walked on quickly. She couldn't deny that she was itching to know what the Malfoys kept hidden in their house, particularly anything banned by the Ministry, but she was rather anxious of the large building. She could imagine herself being lost for days in here. She passed a few open doors. Glancing inside a few, she registered a lot of bedrooms, and a storeroom housing brooms and quidditch equipment. However, most of the doors she passed seemed securely locked.

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Hermione reached what she decided, from her memory of the previous night and the number of staircases, must be the ground floor. She glanced around and thought she was in the entrance hall, because she had found a coat stand. It was hard to get her bearings as the last time she'd had a chance to look around it had been in near-darkness. The doors were rather similar, and she didn't want to walk into the wrong room by mistake. She took the chance while she was figuring it out, to have another look round. The polished dark wood of the floor gleamed in the sunlight that streamed down from the high windows above the double front doors, the light supplemented by the glow of oil lamps scattered about.

There was a large green and black tapestry on the wall halfway down the main staircase, which was very grand. She studied it. Picked out in silver threads was what she assumed must be the Malfoy family motto, 'mediocritas e delictum summum terribilis' (weakness is the most terrible of sins) above a family tree showing an impressive amount of generations of purebloods. She recognised a few names from the Black family tapestry that hung in Grimmauld Place, and some family names of Death Eaters she had heard Harry name. Crabbe and Goyle, for example, were not too distantly connected. However, to her surprise, Andromeda's family name, Fawcett, was very patchy and linked mainly around the top where the more ancient generations were found.

She stood by the front doors and re-traced her steps from the night before. Forgetting to knock, she was so pleased that she had remembered that she flung the door open straight away.

Draco had been reaching over for some coffee when the door had all but fallen off its hinges. He jumped –only his mother would be so impolite as to enter a room without knocking, and that was her privilege. He was about to get up, as manners dictated, when he registered Granger standing in the doorway looking pleased with herself. He slumped back onto the couch. "Oh, it's you Granger."

"You're not as polite this morning as you were last night, Malfoy. You surprised me: I took you for a gentleman," said Hermione curtly, moving in and seating herself on one of the red and gold chairs.

Draco sneered. "I don't generally invite Mudbloods into my house, Granger, let alone waste my social skills for their entertainment."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You invited me into your house as your guest, Malfoy, whether for irreparable reasons or not, so why don't you give me a little courtesy. I invited you to my own house. Had you accepted, I would have treated you according to your being my guest and I being your good host, whether or not you thought ill of me or my parentage."

Draco swallowed quietly. Granger's voice was getting dangerously low. He cleared his throat and remembered himself. "I apo… I … Granger, would you like some coffee?"

Hermione blinked at him, then sighed, defeated. Malfoy was not the sort of person who had been known to apologise. "Yes. Please. Just black, thank you."

They drank their coffee in silence. It was stronger and bitterer than Hermione was used to, but she put up with it. She knew that if she stopped drinking she would have to think of something to say. All she could think about at the moment was when she was going to get some breakfast. She was ready to give in and start a conversation about the weather, when a house elf saved her by appearing miraculously at Draco's arm and announcing that the dining room was now prepared and would Master Malfoy like his breakfast now? He would.

Hermione followed Malfoy across the hall. Opposite the lounge was an ornately carved door whose door was painted with red varnish. The design was of ivy leaves and flowers. It was so beautiful; Hermione thought it an odd decoration for a family of dark wizards. Malfoy saw her admiring it and gave her an odd look, almost pitying. "It's a spell," he said, hesitantly, as if he was telling her something that she definitely shouldn't know.

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," said Malfoy, sounding suddenly distant. He made to open the door, but a look from Hermione told him to reveal the carving beneath the façade. "Finite incantatem," he whispered miserably, as if he hoped the wood wouldn't be listening enough to react.

Hermione gasped. A gasp of shock and revulsion and something indefinable, something that made her want to throw up. The original carving was a death scene, torturous and disgusting, horribly graphic. And what was worse was that she didn't even have to look hard at the carving to note modes of dress and sheer panic. All of the tortured people were muggles. She shut her eyes tight and turned away. Reaching out to steady herself she caught Malfoy's chest by accident and grasped the front of his robes. "Reverso," she heard him mutter, fixing the door back to its original state. "I'm sorry Granger. I should never have brought you here."

Hermione felt quick, quiet tears slide warmly down her cheeks. For the first time since their encounter with Voldemort in the Ministry she felt truly frightened. It took her a while to register that Malfoy had wrapped his arms around her in a protective cocoon, shielding her safely. She pulled back slowly, but he remained holding her, as if worried she would fall down. Looking him straight in the eyes she realised that they were filled with unshed tears. She wondered if he had even wanted to go home himself.

"I can't stay here, Malfoy, I _can't_," she whispered. The beautiful house had changed for her. She felt trapped and scared, far from home. And Malfoy was hardly her friend. She glanced back at the door anxiously. The lovely ivy leaves shone deceptively. "And I can_not_ go in there."

Malfoy snapped his fingers and a house elf materialised beside him. "Biddy, can you have breakfast served in the lounge please."

Hermione was walking as if in a dream. Malfoy helped her to sit down on the couch and gave her a handkerchief with DM embroidered in swirly letters in the corner. "Hermione," he began, catching her attention. She had never heard him say her first name before. "Nothing in this house can hurt you. I promise. I swear on my life. If there was, I never would have invited you here –moreover, Dumbledore would have forbidden it. Look, the Ministry raid this place on a monthly basis, even with my father… away. We don't even have ghosts. It's only you, me, Andromeda, my mother, the housekeeper, and some house elves here. The décor, I can tell you, has… _greatly_ improved. Say something."

"How can you bear it here, Malfoy? It's so _big_ and it's dark… I know it isn't, but it feels even larger than Hogwarts from where I'm sitting. Where did you go last night? I found coming downstairs this morning almost unbearable."

Draco dropped her hands and looked at the fireplace, which was lit and merry. Two house elves came in and hastily laid out the breakfast things on the coffee table and the round table they had eaten dinner at. "It is a large house," he said slowly, "but you see Granger, I don't really notice that. Parts of the house aren't really used that often… it's only mother and Andromeda here now, most of the time, and they don't need to live in the whole house, so we just got used to not lighting it." He turned to her. His face was alive, and the flow of tears across her cheeks stopped immediately. "It's my home, Granger! Stay. You'll see it's an interesting place to live in. I won't lie after what you saw on the door: bad things have happened here in the past, and some ghastly people have lived here. But I've seen this whole place change. I… you could not imagine what sort of magic dwelled in the house when I was younger, before the Ministry cottoned on. They've cleansed the house, Granger."

Hermione frowned at him, sceptical. "At least wait 'til you see the library before you make up your mind," he teased, but gently. "And my rooms are two doors along from yours. Don't walk down on your own in the morning, wait for me, if you like."

Hermione dried her eyes completely and looked around at the lounge. It was true; she had nothing against this room. But she couldn't help wondering about the secrets of the manor. It unsettled her. And she had seen a lot of horrors in her young life so far. She read Malfoy's expression. "You want to stay and look after your mum."

Malfoy snorted and handed her a plate before taking the cover off a dish of sausages. "She doesn't know I even exist," he said, bitterly.

"She will do," said Hermione, planning on adding something else sympathetic and practical, but she was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

"Come," called Malfoy, gesturing for Hermione to help herself to the spread of food.

Andromeda entered. Hermione nearly dropped her plate. The girl was glowing. Her hair was shiny-clean, rippling in ebony waves down her back, and her dress, though still full-length and black, was fitted and beautiful. She looked so different to the girl they had met the previous night. Her whole countenance was healthy and elegant. Hermione felt dowdy and kind of mouldy next to her. It was clear that the girl had made a huge effort with her appearance now that Malfoy was home again.

Malfoy put his plate down on the nearest table. "Good morning, Andromeda." He bowed and kissed her hand. She smiled softy before quietly replying in kind. Their gazes lingered on each other's faces. Hermione got the sense of being a third wheel. Perhaps Malfoy had not only come home to see his mother.

They spent a long time eating breakfast. Hermione eyed the bookshelf again. She still didn't feel comfortable in the house. Malfoy was quietly asking after his mother. Andromeda said that most days Narcissa stayed in her bedroom, the drawing room or the lounge, and would be quiet while she was read to. Most of the time she looked out of the window, or slept.

"Do you think she's listening to you?" asked Malfoy, reaching past Hermione's elbow for the butter.

"Oh yes," Andromeda murmured, without looking up. She pushed the food around her plate. "She tells me what to read. She asks me… when your father is coming home." Hermione saw Malfoy stiffen.

"And what do you tell her?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. You know he's not coming back. Sometimes if she's insistent I say, soon. Just, soon."

When they had finally exhausted the breakfast lay and had nothing left to do but attempt some proper amusement, Hermione was going to suggest working on either their Potions or Transfiguration homework. There didn't seem much else to do at the manor. To be honest, she sometimes felt bored even at The Burrow. If she'd been at home now she'd have gone shopping with her mum or be watching daytime TV or have gone to a museum or something. Not that being in the manor wasn't rather like being inside a living museum in itself. There was so much still to see. But now she wasn't sure whether she wanted to look.

"Are you coming out, Granger?" Malfoy's bored voice cut through her fantasy shopping-spree and the question hovered there. She hadn't noticed he and Andromeda getting up. Hermione jumped up and blushed. Malfoy embellished: "I have to practice my quidditch, it's better when I'm home and there's more time. You can come outside if you want. There's gardens and …whatever girls like about gardens," he offered, with a shrug. Hermione considered. She had nothing better to do really than watch Malfoy practice quidditch. It wasn't like she'd be doing anything else if she'd been with Harry and Ron. Whatever.

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Though snuggled up in their coats, a cold breeze was ruffling their hair and chilling their faces. Hermione thought maybe she would have to walk around a bit while Malfoy practiced. He was carrying a curious almost golden broomstick with 'Applewood 277' written on the end. It had a specially curved set of twigs, which looked set with some kind of silver substance. "Seekers' broom," said Malfoy, noticing her looking, "but you're not meant to have specialised ones in real matches. It's an exercise model." Hermione didn't know much about brooms, so she walked on a little behind Malfoy and Andromeda, admiring the clipped, even lawn and strange statues of magical creatures. One section of the garden they passed through seemed to be a haven for squirrels, which chased one another up and down the trunk of a large oak. There were some very old specimen trees, and 'secret' gardens surrounded by hedges. She felt safer in the garden. It was so alive and green compared to the locked doors of the manor.

They had walked for a good ten minutes before Malfoy decided they were far enough into the garden. "I'm going to run a few loops with the snitch," he said, "I'll come back before lunch." He hopped onto the broom and glided away quickly in the direction of the three goal posts Hermione had seen from her window.

Andromeda touched her sleeve. "You can come with me, I'm meant to sit with Narcissa. If she goes to sleep I can show you the water gardens if you want."

The two girls passed through a highly wrought iron gate in one of the hedgerows into a small covered garden. The slate paving slabs were half covered over with dark moss, and there was a statue of a centaur about to fire an arrow to the sky. There was a highly arched grille over the whole garden, with ivy and trailing vines entwining above their heads. Some unlit lanterns hung down from the grille, and Hermione could imagine it at night, a living room outside the house. However, it was quite light enough this morning, the weak wintry sun casting white light, and the thick hedge sheltering them from the cold wind. Near one of the 'walls' there was an iron bench, which someone had put cushions out on, and near this was a large iron armchair padded out with a quilt. Narcissa Malfoy was wrapped up to the throat, her white-blonde hair shining in the morning sun. She was looking at the sky.

Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the bench, trying not to attract attention to herself from Narcissa. There were several books piled on a bit of paving slab that was free from moss and she picked through them. She heard Andromeda ask their host if she would like to be read to. After receiving no reply she picked up a book of Latin poems and began to read aloud from it anyway in her soft, low voice. It was a voice that made Hermione feel rather sleepy so she thought she had better block it out. She found a book that looked vaguely interesting called 'The Virgin's Lover.' Its dust jacket had been lost a long time since but she found it quite engrossing and enough to settle her. It seemed to be a muggle book, which surprised her, and she was soon captivated in such a way that only books had ever brought her.

They passed a few hours in this fashion. Hermione, who read rather fast, was just past the halfway mark when she felt a hesitant touch at her elbow. She jumped. Malfoy was standing by the bench with an uncharacteristic grin. His normally pallid complexion was rosy and brightened by his exercise. She could tell that he had been training himself hard. She remembered her words in their second year –'at least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent!' and felt a pang of something like regret. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.

"Good book then, I take it, Granger?" he grinned. She gazed at him for a moment. It was funny how much a smile could change a person's face.

"Consuming," she replied, glancing at the page number and memorising it before closing up. "Could I borrow it?"

Draco nodded, then glanced at his mother. She was fixated with the sky, letting Andromeda's soothing voice flow over her head. The girl was ignoring his presence, and he knew she had slipped into her own poetry dream world. Her generous lips moved of their own accord as her large black eyes roamed the page. He mentally shook himself. Dwelling on the twisted beauty of the ward was not something he had planned on making his habit. He returned his attention to Granger. "Want to have a fly before we go in, Granger? It's good weather for it." He didn't know why he made the request. Flying was something he liked to practice alone. It was a form of release. Freedom of the skies. He had expected Granger to dismiss him in favour of her book. He had not expected her to blush.

"I… don't really fly that well," Hermione admitted, looking at some point over his shoulder. Her cheeks flamed. "I didn't think I'd need it, so I didn't really learn after a few lessons in the first year. I couldn't even fly Bu-a hippogriff."

Malfoy offered her a hand. She took it and stood up. He was surprised. For a muggle-born, Granger was certainly being trusting. He hastily released her. "I'll teach you some basic moves before lunch."

Hermione followed Malfoy out of the courtyard-style garden, leaving the book she'd been reading on the arm of the bench. She hoped it wouldn't get put away. She might not find it again. A question that had preyed on her mind spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it: "Why is your mother always looking out of the window or at the sky?"

Draco stopped; tense as if their recent peace had been a false friend. Hermione nearly walked into him. "She's waiting for his owl."

"Oh…"

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	5. Chap 5

**Part five: Hermione Flies. **

"Get on in front of me Granger, I'm not going to drop you."

Hermione approached the 'Applewood 277' with trepidation. It hovered at mounting height, waiting for them to reach a decision. She had already overruled riding behind Malfoy in case she let go, and he had yet to get her to even approach the broom. "Can't we just walk there?" she wheedled for the eighth time. Malfoy had decided it would be far quicker to get to the training field in the air, as the paths through the gardens took a meandering, roundabout route that would mean going back to the manor for lunch would take twice as long.

"We can't, I said it's too far," he repeated cuttingly, "just get on the broom Granger."

Hermione had to ride 'side-saddle' as she was wearing her long skirt. Malfoy fussed for a minute about her position and weight distrubution before sitting astride the broom behind her. She wasn't prepared when he passed his arms round her to grip her waist. She felt his breath on her neck. "Up," he said. Hermione gasped and panicked slightly as the broom left the ground and soared upwards: up, up, up, they were at least ten metres over the trees and another word from Malfoy sent them soaring over to the practice field at a sedately pace that Hermione thought was too fast. She gripped the broom handle so hard that her knuckles were white and the skin around them began to strain. She heard Malfoy's voice in her ear, strangely soft: "Relax."

When they touched down they had a problem –only one broom.

Malfoy looked at Hermione's white face, dizzy from the ride, as if sizing her up. "Accio Silver Arrow!" he called, brandishing his wand in the direction of the house.

"Why don't you use your Nimbus?"

Malfoy grimaced, as if Hermione had said something surprisingly stupid. "The Nimbus ranges are _racing_ and _teamwork_ brooms, Granger. Wow, you really can't know a lot about quidditch if you don't have the scoop on brooms. Now, the Applewoods are specialised brooms for training, but the Silver Arrows are fine to learn on…" while they waited for the broom to arrive, Malfoy began detailing the finer points of the history of broomsticks to Hermione. She felt rather overwhelmed, and more than a little stupid at her ignorance. If there was a book she needed to look at, it was one on broom types –who knew there could be such an important subject she hadn't studied yet?

They had a little trouble getting her into the air at first. Draco had to explain that the broom would be able to sense how afraid she was, and if she were really so afraid then they would have to abandon the idea completely. It was the thought of impressing Ron and Harry when she got back that finally pushed Hermione to even mounting the new broom. However, once she was up, _really_ up, she could see why the broom was used for learning. It moved slowly when she wanted it to, and seemed to know when to stop and start and help her keep her balance. Draco showed her how to do a shallow dive, which she managed after a few false starts and a lot of persuasion. When she had finally done it, however, she was quietly proud of herself, and also of her teacher. She gained a little more height, and they practiced emergency breaking. Hermione was not a natural flier, but true to her learning capacity had mastered a few basics in the hour or two they spent in the air.

"Come on down Granger, it's nearly two, we should eat something."

Hermione was slightly put out when she was called back down. Malfoy offered her a calculating look. "You did well Granger. I wasn't sure you could do it."

"Didn't you hear, I'm an insufferable know it all," she replied sarcastically to hide her pleasure at the compliment.

"For an insufferable know it all, you need to brush up on brooms, Granger. I'll lend you some 'light bedtime reading'."

They flew back to the covered garden but it was empty. The book Hermione had left was still lying on the bench so she picked it up and took it with her. They flew all the way back to the manor; it was quicker than walking.

Lunch, a selection of cold meats and cheeses, was served in the lounge again, but it was just the two of them. Hermione felt awkward again. The conversation from the practice field had dried up. She spared a thought to ask where the other women were eating, and Malfoy replied that they were probably in the dining room; his mother liked things to be just so in their house. Hermione felt a renewed respect for him that he had not subjected her to that room. Despite spending a relatively pleasant morning, she had been careful not to go near the carved door.

After lunch they went upstairs to an empty room to work on the Transfiguration project but were not very proficient. The best they could manage was to shoot red sparks at each other. There was an incident of an argument when Malfoy suggested that Hermione was losing her touch, and she accused him of fixing the room to repel foreign magic. It was not half as good an afternoon as the morning they had spent together, and by evening the best they could manage was pushing each other over without speaking to their wands. Mute magic was not for the weak. Both fuming with the passion of their long abiding hate for each other, they came sulkily down to dinner and did not speak apart from to ask each other to pass a dish. Hermione did not thank her host for letting them eat in the lounge again.

"_Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit_

_Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste_

_Brought death into the world…_"

Andromeda was reading 'Paradise Lost' to Narcissa from her seat on a large black floor cushion, her soft voice rolling over the rhythm of the poem. Draco, who had again approached his mother and been ignored, was sitting on the couch with a small glass of firewhiskey. He had offered some to Hermione, but she had declined as civilly as she could muster and was curled up in an armchair with the book she had begun. She was finding it hard to stay awake in the dim light of the fire and low oil lamp. The curtains had been drawn and it was surprisingly cosy. She struggled with her eyelids then felt herself slip into sleep…

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When Hermione awoke it was dark in the room; the fire reduced to glowing orange embers and the oil lamp out. She glanced around the lounge. Narcissa must have gone to bed. She shook her head groggily, hoping she hadn't been left alone in the big room, when she heard Malfoy's voice come out of the gloom –"Goodnight, Andromeda."

She glanced round at them, trying not to interrupt. Andromeda was by the door. There was a clink –Malfoy putting down a whiskey glass. She saw them silhouetted in the doorway as her host kissed the ward's pale hand: magic shapes in the night.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

That was when Draco Malfoy threw his caution to the wind and kissed Andromeda Fawcett.

Hermione felt inextricably outraged as she pulled herself completely out of sleepiness. _"You're a nasty little ferret who gets girls drunk."_ She could hear her own words as if she had just spoken them, the encounter she had spent half a term putting out of her mind suddenly fresh in her memory. How _dare_ Malfoy?

The figures in the doorway sprang apart. Malfoy's breathing was loud in the room. "I'm so sorry, Andromeda, sorry…"

"Oh. Goodnight then, Malfoy."

A rustle of a gown and she was gone. Draco looked at his glass, the seventh, no, eighth of the night and threw it at the fireplace. It shattered over the grate, causing the embers to spit and crackle. Hermione let her guards back down again. Malfoy had been the one who was drunk.

She coughed.

"Oh. Hello Granger," said Malfoy, dully, pushing some unruly strands of white-blonde hair out of his face. He braced himself for whatever new argument or admonishment Granger was about to throw at him, biting his lip and staring fixedly at the bookcase without seeing it.

"I suppose we'd better go to bed… what time is it?"

Oh, right, not what he was expecting then. He was oddly grateful. "Just gone eleven. I'll show you the quickest route to your room." They mounted the stairs in silence. The house was oddly still, cold moonlight creeping through cracks in the copious curtains, casting an eerie ethereal glow. When they arrived at Hermione's door it was a touch open, which alarmed her, but Malfoy didn't seem fazed so she guessed it had been cleaned. He hesitated, embarrassed –"um, my room is two doors along –the one with the green serpent handle. 'Night Granger." He took off before she could reply.

Hermione didn't want to be left alone in the dark corridor so she dived into her bedroom and shut the door firmly. It wasn't that she resented having people to fetch and carry after her, but it was making her feel uneasy –the servants were good at making themselves invisible. She spent a fitful night dreaming of the door to Malfoy's dining room. As she approached it she wanted to touch the carved ivy leaves so much, but when her fingers were a hair's breadth away she was staring into the face of a poor, helpless muggle girl. Later in the night she dreamt that she had gone home and found her parents brutally tortured and murdered –their images etched in a strangely carved scene, like a tableau. She was grateful to wake up in the morning and open her curtains to the reassuring Sun.

She hadn't finished getting dressed when she heard a knock at the door, which almost made her jump out of her skin. She remembered the promise Malfoy had made her and hastily pulled her dressing gown over her underwear, pulling it as tight as possible. "Bloody early riser…" she muttered, casting a glance around at her pyjamas, which were strewn over the bed. She was stuffing them under her pillow when the knock came again, rather louder. She threw open the door to behold Malfoy wearing very smart formal-robes, the wizarding equivalent of a suit, a silver-topped cane in his right hand. He looked exactly like his father, and for a moment Hermione was very afraid.

"Excuse me, Granger," he said, blushing to the roots of his hair and ruining the effect of his outfit completely, looking away from her hastily. She thought perhaps it wasn't good manners in the wizarding aristocracy to see your guest in her nightwear.

"No problem, come in Malfoy, I was just getting dressed, that's all," she had to practically drag him into the room, which she thought was quite amusing. Grabbing some random clothes that looked like they might match, she made a hasty retreat into the bathroom where she left the door open a crack to talk through. She heard him shuffling around and wondered whether he was looking through her stuff. "What's the occasion?" she called, struggling with the zip on a pair of black trousers that she was sure had fitted her a week ago.

"What? Oh- I have a meeting with Mother's attorney, Mr Dingleby. I'll have to leave you with Andromeda, I'm afraid, but I'll be back by late afternoon. We can do the project then."

Hermione came out of the en-suite dressed in black trousers (with the top button undone but no one was going to see that) and a red cardigan with a navy vest top underneath, the dressing gown tucked under her arm. "I was thinking we could work on the Potions stuff, you know, alternate them."

"Potions then. There are some labs under the manor; we can work there. I'll have Biddy clean a space for us. I haven't been down there since… well, it hasn't been needed."

"Right."

"Right." Malfoy was standing by the window looking out at the grounds. A low mist had fallen so that the gardens were obscured, the sunlight struggling to penetrate. There was a heavy silence. "Well, let's go down then."

Breakfast was forced politeness -though this time Hermione remembered to thank Malfoy for having it served in the lounge again. He did not reply. She glanced at him as she reached for the marmalade. He looked so tense and rigid –even more than usual- that he could break his neck. There was a wild determined look in his eye that alarmed her.

They were disturbed by Andromeda and Narcissa, who walked into the room as if she were in a dream. Draco stood up and bid Andromeda good morning before announcing that it was due time he left. He shouldn't be too long, as Mr Dingleby was sending a car for him. As if on cue, they distinctly heard a blast of a horn, and the running steps of the house elves. As Draco pushed gently past his mother, he was alarmed when she grabbed him by the forearm and spun him to face her.

"Lucius?" the pale woman's eyes were bright with unshed tears, full of impossible hope. She touched his face, gently, frightened to let the image fade. Hermione saw a flash of grief pass over Andromeda's features.

Draco spiralled away. "_I'm not him, damn it_!" The shout surprised them all. Draco threw a last revolted look over his shoulder at his mother before slamming out of the manor. They heard the front doors give off a great 'boom!' as they bashed together again. Narcissa burst into tears. Andromeda rushed to her side again to help her into an armchair.

"There, ma'am, I'll read aloud –La Belle Dame Sans Merci."

Hermione had not choice but to stay in the lounge. There were many books at her disposal, but to her surprise and chagrin they all seemed to be collections of the strangest muggle poetry available. Published for wizarding needs, many of them featured moving illustrations, which were even stranger than the poems. At first it was quite pleasant to sit and listen to Andromeda's voice carefully reciting the verses; she seemed to know exactly what speed to speak at, and where to get louder and where another accent should be used. In all she seemed a very accomplished performer.

"_I met a lady in the meads,_

_-Full beautiful-a faery's child,_

_Her hair was long, her foot was light,_

_And her eyes were wild."_

After a while, Hermione felt herself falling asleep, but not fully. The room became oddly hazy as the combined warmth of the fire and the soft, low voice lulled her into a trance. She struggled to say alert and glanced at her watch. It was nearly half past ten; quite early, but she was beginning to feel as though she hadn't slept in days.

"_And there she lullèd me asleep,_

_And there I dreamed-ah, woe betide!_

_The latest dream I ever dream'd_

_On the cold hill's side._"

Hermione thought she would probably be asleep and lost too on 'the cold hill's side' if she did not get up from this stupor. She fought the new wave of tiredness and sat up, looking at Andromeda. The girl had abandoned the book and was reciting the gothic poem from memory, her voice lilting over the words. Her eyes were far away. Narcissa was staring out of the window, playing absentmindedly with a black ribbon on the neck of her robe. Hermione heaved herself laboriously out of her chair.

Using the route she remembered from yesterday, Hermione slipped out of a side door into the gardens. She walked for a while. The hedges into the separated gardens were high and bushy, casting shadow over the path at intervals, split with the sunlight straining through the infrequent gaps between the leaves. She tried some of the gates and doors to move around the labyrinth, but found many of them locked. Sometimes she was content just to look through the bars. Approaching one garden that was closed off by an iron gate and finding it locked, she pressed herself against the railings to peep in. She was disappointed. The garden was adorned with only one statue. It portrayed three snakes entwined from tail to head, their three mouths snapping at each other's throats. A stony eye stared at her, then blinked. Hermione backed off quickly, in search of a more welcoming garden.

She had been walking in a roundabout way, though seemingly not straying too far from one of the main paths, when she came across a garden with a large wooden door, that had a big knocker on it in the shape of a horseshoe. The handle was rusty from rain and her hand came away tarnished brown when she tried to open it. It was very locked. Over the top of the high hedge, she could see the top boughs of a large tree. "Alohamora!" The door, to her surprise, clicked open. She pushed against it tentatively, because the spell had not worked on all the doors –they had wards to prevent entry, and probably for good reasons knowing this place. She braced herself for disappointment. Most of the gardens were full of benches or statues, and had not been very interesting. But all she wanted to do was look at the tree.

It was an enormous tree. Beech, she suspected, though she was shocked to find that she couldn't remember. It was standing in the farthest corner of the garden.

This garden was bigger than the others she had looked into or unlocked doors to. There was a little path around a pond that had long needed clearing out and had no fish in it. The flowerbeds were overgrown and full of weeds, but also sported large winter roses. Without a cover of greenery over the garden, the sun had streamed in and nourished the plants. Hermione picked her way through the weeds, thankful to be wearing her trousers rather than the skirt, as they were high enough to reach her knees and there were lots of nettles, and many magical plants that she shouldn't be touching.

As she was admiring a large, fragrant blue flower what was attracting butterflies, she distinctly heard a creak. Hermione was not a girl who got afraid easily anymore, so she suspected it must be the old tree, whose trunk was so thick that it must have had at least three hundred years on it. She approached and found another treasure. The creaking had come from an old swing, whose chunky wires had been nailed securely into the thickest branch, hidden high up in the canopy. She could see it had been there for at least her lifetime. The swing seat was quite small, and covered in moss. "Scorgify!" the paint underneath, which had nearly all come off, had been white. It was a metal seat, twisted into a pattern of roses to sit on. It was lovely. When the wind blew and rustled the leaves above her head, the old seat swayed slightly and creaked. Whether through her own imagination or not, Hermione could have sworn she heard the faint sound of a young girl laughing.

She was so terrified that she ran straight back down the little path, round the pond and out of the little garden as fast as her legs could carry her.

When she had got clear of the garden, she stopped and chastised herself before walking back again. She had left the door open, and it had not been her right to even open it. She closed it again firmly, locking it with the easiest to break spell in case someone else came in there. She looked at the knocker for a minute before taking out one of her hair bands and fixing it securely to one side. 'Just in case I want to find it again,' she thought, before continuing along the main path.

The end of the path had taken her onto the pavilion with the three quidditch rings. The time was nearly twelve; she had spent a long time exploring the estate. Running to the highest point at the top of the field, she could look back and see the top half of the manor rising out of hedgerows. One of those windows belonged to her bedroom. She wondered which one was Malfoy's.

"Accio Silver Arrow!"

If Malfoy could do it, she could. While she was waiting, she walked around the bottom of the goal posts. They went a long way up. She didn't always appreciate how impressive they were from the stands. The broom arrived and hovered near her, expectantly. She had a bit of trouble mounting, trying to remember what Malfoy had told her the previous day. In the end she swung her legs over to sit like he had now that she was wearing trousers. "UP! Woah…" okay so this was harder than she'd thought, and the broom seemed to know how nervous she was and didn't want to move very much. She tried to go faster and promptly fell off. "Oww…" She inspected her ankle. It seemed to be only twisted so she got back on the broom "like riding a bike…" she muttered to herself. Those had been Harry's words when he had once tried to teach her to fly. Grr….

"OW!"

"Granger? Granger, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

If Hermione hadn't already fallen ten feet off the broom, she would have been startled by Malfoy's shout. As it was, she had managed to fall right on her arm, which looked kind of twisted. She felt rather bruised. "I was –owww…. I was trying to learn how to fly this thing." Malfoy knelt next to her, grumbling under his breath, and inspected her arm. She noticed that he was still wearing the formal-robes but had put his cane somewhere.

"It's just a sprain. You stupid idiot Granger, are you trying to get me expelled? Dumbledore'd do his nut if he knew you were flying round my estate… well, at least the broom's okay!"

"Oh, goodie," said Hermione sarcastically, trying to flex her arm and finding it extremely painful. Unluckily it was her wand arm. Damn. Malfoy conjured small splints, and then made her wait while he gave the Silver Arrow a thorough inspection. It all seemed to be in order.

"Sit in front of me Granger. Merlin, women: more trouble than you give them credit for. I thought you were meant to be smart?"

Hermione did not deign to answer. Malfoy chastised her all the way back to the manor- "…could have broken your neck… should be under supervised instruction… don't know why you even bothered…more of a boys' sport anyway…" blah, blah, if she wasn't in so much pain she might have bothered retaliating. His arm stayed tight around her waist for the entire flight, chin bumping softly on her shoulder, complaining and spitting out bits of curly brown hair.

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The afternoon saw a Granger and a Malfoy systematically working through a potion together, trying to determine its properties and end use without succumbing to harming each other.

The dungeon lab that Malfoy had set the house elves to clearing that morning was dark and lit inadequately with green-tinted oil lamps, which annoyed Hermione greatly. Recognising they must have been put there purely to create a mysterious mood for the room, she was repeatedly irritated when she couldn't see what she was doing properly. The walls around them were lined with shelves housing thick books and flasks of ingredients, which were little help when they pulled out their vials of potion that Snape had set for them to determine, as few of them were labelled.

A bench in the corner which was coated in dust had the remains of the potion half way made spread out in various vials and cauldrons, as if the person making it had just gone away to get a cup of tea and then forgotten about it. Hermione did not ask what it was, or who had been brewing it. Malfoy did not mention it at all.

The first potion that they had been set to decipher by Snape turned out to be a healing potion, which came in very useful for Hermione's arm after they had tested it on a rat that was stuck in a rusty cage in the corner. They decided to keep the other two potions for another day, and sat in almost compatible silence while they wrote out their analysis of the healing potion.

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'Hermione knocked on the door of her house but there was no answer. She looked behind her and saw her parents' car in the driveway. It began to rain and she walked round to the back to knock again. There was no answer. It was really hammering down now and she scrabbled at the lock. Her fingernails ripped and began bleeding. The rain washed down her face, making her eyes sting. Finally the door gave way and she crashed into the kitchen, where her mother was lying on the floor, eyes open. "Mum? Mum! Mum! Mum!" Hermione started to shake her but though her eyes were staring blankly they held no life and the rain on her face turned salty with tears. Looking up she started towards the door to find her dad, but as she stretched out her fingers the white paint fell away to reveal the torturous carving on Mafloy's dining room door and –'

Hermione awoke with a cry and stared about wildly. She was in her scarlet bed in Malfoy manor, the sheet twisted in her hands, tears trickling down into the corners of her mouth where she could taste blood from biting her lip. A wintry storm was raging outside, and she could hear the steady battering of rain on the windows on the other side of the house, like marching feet and in her nightmarish state she imagined them as Death Eaters, coming to get them all. She was just trying to force herself to calm down, which was not easy, when the wind blew up and rattled the ancient windowpanes behind the thick curtains. She screamed in terror, sheer terror, and shot out of bed, launching herself at the door and out onto the landing.

The hall was dark, only illuminated in small patches by the sinister oil lamps, great chasms of black in-between. Hermione raced down the hall, counting the doors and hammered Malfoy's with her fists.

"Malfoy! _Malfoy_!" she had frightened herself further, beyond belief, with the images of her dreams fresh in her mind and her shouts and blows echoing round the deserted old corridor. She began to fancy that she could see terrible people –spirits- lurking in the shadows just beyond the circle of inadequate light.

"MALFOY! Malfoy _please_! Open this door!"

The door opened unexpectedly, sharply, and she tumbled into the blonde boy before immediately snapping round and locking them in securely. She lent against it, back to him, breathing heavily.

"Granger, what the bloody hell has got into you? It's about 3am! …Granger?"

Hermione turned round miserably. Malfoy was standing on the carpet wearing nothing but a pair of large green boxer shorts and looking extremely pissed off. He had obviously been dead asleep before she had started trying to beat his door down. Hermione swallowed, and salt and snot cascaded down the back of her throat. "I can't sleep here," she admitted, pitifully.

Draco groaned and took Granger firmly by the arm, steering her over to the nearest chair and plonking her down on it before hastily locating a dressing gown. "Come on Granger," he scoffed, "you can't have been scared by a stupid little storm." Granger began to sob wretchedly. Damn. He edged closer warily and squatted in front of her. "What the hell's wrong then?"

"I can't sleep in this house!" she wailed again, now furiously trying to brush the new tears out of her eyes, "this house hates me because I'm a …a 'mudblood!'" She broke into a fresh wave of tears. Draco stared at her, aghast.

'Crap,' he thought, 'what can I do about that?' "The house doesn't hate you, Granger," he said, matter-of-factly, "you just had a nightmare, that's all."

Hermione hid her face in the side of the chair and carried on crying. Draco sighed and cast a longing look over his bed. He had been dreaming about quidditch and really wanted to get back to that. Granger had quietened down again. He pulled her to her feet, making one of his split-second decisions. "Come on, I want to sleep. Don't worry, I'm not going to try anything…"

That night Hermione dreamed that she was flying.

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	6. Chap 6

**Part six: And Hast Thou Slain The Jabberwock? **

It was late when Hermione awoke, shattered after the night's escapades. She rolled over and nearly whacked into Malfoy. She quickly recalled the night's events and looked around. She was lying in a large four-poster bed with dark blue curtains and ebony wood. What she could see of the room was enormous and lined with bookcases absolutely groaning with large and difficult-looking books, and a few collectors' brooms were suspended with magic near the ceiling. She counted the days on her fingers –it was her third morning in the manor; she only had four left and she could go back to Hogwarts. She thought maybe that was four days too long.

Hermione tried to move but she and Malfoy had become a little tangled in the night and she couldn't move his arm without waking him, which was proved when he woke up with a start and stated 'Oh God, you really are here."

There was a silence. Hermione moved and inhaled sharply –Malfoy's hand was still on her hip and she was only wearing her grey pyjamas. It hadn't seemed very important during the night but now it was absolutely improper and she expected to be thrown out in a minute for gross misconduct, as they seemed so hot on manners here. Malfoy looked down at her appraisingly.

"Um," said Hermione, very inarticulately, "thanks…for last night. You see, I just had a really bad dream and I-"

She was terribly cut off from her babble when Malfoy lent down and without warning kissed her on the mouth.

Hermione was shocked and stayed very still while the pale boy's lips moved over hers experimentally. It was quick and light. Malfoy pulled away and lay back on the pillows again. His hands were thankfully also removed.

"Wha- wha? What the h- on _earth_ was that for?"

Draco glanced sideways and gave her a half grin, lacing his hands behind his head. "Just wondered."

"But… don't you love Andromeda?"

There was a pause as Draco considered. "You know Granger, I think I actually do. And I think that _you_ are in love with Weaselbee."

Hermione propped herself up on one elbow and gaped like a goldfish: "I- I- you'd better stay away from me, Malfoy, Andromeda'll hex me if you come anywhere near me again. _Ron_ and me... Me and… !"

"You and Weasley," said Malfoy, firmly, leaning over the other side of the bed to look for something. Hermione digested this and blushed deeply, pulling the sheet up to her chin. "She's a squib," said a muffled voice from the other side of the bed.

"What?"

Draco resurfaced with a handful of letters that he proceeded to read the fronts of. "Andromeda is a squib," he repeated, calmly, holding one of the packages up to his ear and shaking it before progressing to the next one.

"Oh."

"Don't tell her I told you –old secret of ours. Looks like someone brought the mail in –here, something from your boyfriend no doubt." Draco brandished a letter at Hermione who took it eagerly, forgetting about Andromeda and the kiss for a moment and concentrating on the treasure in her hand. On the front of the envelope Ron's untidy scrawl spelt out: Miss H Granger, Malfoy Manor (ninth circle of Hell), England. Return address: Charlie's billet, C/O Mr C Weasley, Dangerous Dragon Enclosure, The Fire-Way, Romania.

Hermione ripped it open eagerly. Beside her Malfoy was muttering "Oh no you don't, I paid all of that off last month you bastards…"

'_Dear Hermione,_

_Hello! How are you, you better be OK or I'm going to kick Malfoy where it hurts and then feed him to my dragon ! I'm looking after dragons with Charlie -isn't it cool? Oh yes and I am learning loads (sort of), bet you're very jealous –mind you I would rather be locked in the enclosure than where you are right now and you can tell Malfoy what if he does ANYTHING to upset you I'm going to bash seven shades of shit out of him._

_OK so you know I was partnered with Seamus, so his mum had no problem with him coming over here too. We just got back from riding a Norwegian Ridgeback and who knows maybe it was Norbert! Charlie said it's hard to tell because they all look pretty alike –NRs- and Norbert wouldn't wear a collar so they don't know. _

_We haven't have kind of started the Transfiguration homework but maybe it's the climate out here or something 'cos it's not really working –how are you and Malfoy doing with it? I bet he's rubbish. We're not meant to go in the labs here but Potions will be easy anyway, right ? _

_Well reply if you can, unless Malfoy's holding your letters hostage._

_M Miss you (and Harry). We get back the day before we go back to school so you could meet me us in Diagon Alley if you want?_

_Love From _

_Ron.' _

**(A/N: the words underlined in the letter had been crossed out onmy original text to make it look like Ron had put down words then decided maybe he should cross them out.)**

Hermione read the letter twice and tried to find any hidden meanings in it. She was surprisingly disappointed to find none. Malfoy had obviously been wrong. A pale hand reached over and jerked the letter out of her hand.

"Hey! Give it back!" shrieked Hermione, trying to catch the slip of paper, which suddenly seemed extremely precious. Malfoy stretched his arm out of reach over the side of the bed. Hermione put her hand on his chest by mistake and withdrew it quickly. "Horrid ferret," she muttered and folded her arms. Malfoy examined the letter with a flourish.

"Seven shades of shit, hmm? My, how civilized. And I wonder why they say the red-haired are mad…AHA! See I knew it."

"What? Where?" said Hermione, forgetting her sulk and staring at the letter.

"Granger, he sends you his 'love'! There! At the bottom! And he says he misses you. What further proof could you possibly need? You really aren't as smart as people think you are…"

"He doesn't put 'love'."

"Don't look at what he's written, stupid, look at what's crossed out. He has clearly written –granted very poorly and practically illegibly, 'love' from Ron."

Hermione took the letter, stared at it for a minute, and then beamed. "You're right! It does say 'love'!"

"Ooh goodie," said Malfoy darkly, returning to his mail, which was scattered across the sheet before him. Hermione glanced over it discreetly. Most of them were covered in coats of arms –there was the Gringotts stamp with 'FINAL NOTICE' stamped pointedly at the bottom, and some others that were clearly different societies and businesses that the Malfoys had had dealings with before Lucius had been sent to Azkaban.

As if sensing her gaze, Malfoy slipped out of the bed and wrapping his dressing gown round him again padded across the floor to a drawer and locked the letters in, using his fingerprint to seal them in. Hermione adjusted her pyjamas and glanced around the room again, the sheets pulled up to her chin. She itched to get her hands on those books. Malfoy spun back to her and regarded her for a minute. It was a very surreal situation, having Granger in his bed. "I thought you might want to check out the library today. We can do McGonagall's stuff in there."

"Really?" said Hermione eagerly, not bothering to mask her excitement, "you must have generations worth of collections there."

"Well don't get too carried away Granger," said Draco with a nasty smirk, "wouldn't want you to over-exert yourself." Hermione frowned at him. "You go to your room and let me get dressed. I'll give you twenty minutes."

"…Okay." Hermione went to the door, which Malfoy opened for her out of habit, and nearly walked smack into Andromeda, who was presumably passing on her way down to breakfast. "Oh!"

"Good morning," said the ward, in a neutral voice, though her eyes skirted past Hermione, to Malfoy and back again. Her lips parted slightly in quiet disbelief and Hermione's stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. "I hope you slept well," said Andromeda pointedly, before turning on her heel and gliding away down the corridor without giving Malfoy any greeting.

"Andromeda!" Malfoy pushed past Hermione and approached the ward, who though she had halted as manners dictated, had not turned around. Hermione scuttled back to her room and peeked back through the sliver of open door to watch them. Malfoy's lips moved slowly, and Andromeda raised her chin and replied softly. Her eyes were large and dark. Malfoy kissed her hand but she quickly dropped it and rustled past him as she descended the stairs.

Draco turned and stalked back to his room, noting Granger's face and offering her the vilest of looks before slamming the door to his room. She shut herself in and went to get washed and dressed.

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The trip to the library was postponed until after lunch. Malfoy had gone out to quidditch practice without offering Hermione any more flying lessons, but she didn't comment on it. After explaining her nightmarish state of the previous night to Andromeda, however, the ward seemed much happier and as this was a day when Narcissa would not come down from her room, Hermione offered to show the ward the garden with the swing.

"This is it, I marked it with my hair band in case I found it again. Alohamora!" the girls pushed against the old door and it swung back. Andromeda stepped in and stood still, staring round at the overgrown flowerbeds, wild roses, and the very old tree.

"This is Narcissa's garden," she stepped forward and touched one of the roses, which were wonderfully unspoilt. "I thought it had been closed."

"Sorry," said Hermione, coming up behind her, "I was just looking."

"No, I always wondered what was in here."

"There's a swing. You can't see it from here though. Come on…" the atmosphere in the garden felt different now that they knew they were effectively trespassing. The old swing creaked as they approached it. Andromeda reached out and trailed a finger along the seat. The leaves were rustling overhead. Hermione froze. There it was again; she was certain she heard a girl's laughter.

Andromeda gripped her arm. "What was that?"

"I don't know. I thought it was my imagination." They stood stock still, petrified. The garden was deceptively quiet. All they could hear was their own breathing. Hermione thought she could feel Andromeda's pulse.

"There's something written on this seat."

Andromeda's soft voice sounded louder in the garden, and Hermione flinched involuntarily. With strangely respectable courage, the black-haired girl reached out again and wiped the rest of the moss from the peeling white paint. With a jerk, she suddenly withdrew, almost knocking Hermione off-balance. Pale lips traced a word too unbelievable to be here, now, in this place, that she couldn't get it out loud. Hermione glanced from the ward's wide and confused eyes to the seat, leaning closer to read the curved pattern that she had mistaken for flowers.

Fawcett 

"I don't think I should be in here," said Andromeda, uncertainly. They stiffened. Both had thought they heard or was it imagined a light laugh blowing over in the wind. There was a very definite and audible crack of a stick on the path behind them and the girls whipped round, clutching at each other.

Malfoy stood on the path, sweaty from practice. However, far from flushed with exercise, his face seemed unnaturally pale. Barely controlled anger glittered in his voice, trembling: "What do you think you're doing in here."

"I'm so sorry, we- we were just looking and-"

"Get out of here, GET OUT!" the girls scuttled past him down the path and practically tripped over each other in their haste to be rid of the garden.

"I'm so sorry Malfoy, it was all my fault, I opened the door, I was only exploring!" said Hermione desperately, as Malfoy shut the door firmly and began performing locking charms with speed. She had not heard of some of them, which disturbed her.

Malfoy halted and pressed his forefinger on the keyhole. Hermione realised she would never go through that door again. Without turning he said, "no one goes in there."

"Malfoy, I…" Andromeda looked slightly tearful. Seeing her family name in such an unexpected place had made her question the manor again. It had taken her long enough to get used to the place.

"Don't unlock doors here, Granger," said Malfoy, turning round. "Just don't do it."

"Okay, Malfoy." Hermione's words were lost on the breeze as Malfoy abruptly mounted his broom and flew back to the manor, leaving the girls to walk all the way back. "Come on, Narcissa will probably want you to read to her," said Hermione gently, taking the ward's arm. There was no more conversation.

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Hermione had never seen so many books in her life. The Malfoy library rivalled that of Hogwarts, having been 'founded' long before the school, and built on by each generation. It was little wonder to her that Malfoy was a smart person. There was too much knowledge stored in this room to be ignored. If she tried to read it all she would give the pensieve business a lot of custom.

Draco leaned on the doorframe and smirked as Granger walked slowly into the large room, sensing that she was telling herself to calm down and retrain from running through the different partitions to explore just how many sections there were. His eye trained in on the ladder, which leant against the poetry section and he knew that Andromeda probably practically lived in this room when he was away. "Take your time Granger," he called, as his guest rushed forward to look at the velvety spine of an old purple-covered book, "I'll start setting up. There's a seating area to your left and round the side of the statue."

Hermione nodded mutely, wondering whether Malfoy had read even a quarter of the books in the library. Looking up the richly painted ceiling showed mythical creatures. The floor was dark polished wood like that of the entrance hall. Every inch of wall was packed with knowledge. She'd never felt so elated in her life. She began scanning the sections nearest to her. It was hard to tell where the room began and ended because rounding each bookcase she seemed to find another one. However, much as she wouldn't mind getting lost in here, she re-traced her steps, finding her way by working back through the sections in reverse alphabetical order. When she reached the first A's she had returned to the main door.

Left…then round the statue.

Hermione halted just out of sight round the side of a statue of a wizard who looked a little like Malfoy and was reading a book with a smirk on his stone face. Malfoy was sitting on a low black couch with Andromeda. Those two intrigued Hermione far more than anything she'd witnessed at the manor so far. They made a pretty scene. Their contrasting hair shone in the dim candlelight, giving them mystical auras.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!"

'Yes, beware,' thought Hermione suddenly, as Malfoy's hand snaked out to twirl a curly section of black hair around the tip of his finger. Andromeda glanced sideways at him with her large eyes. 'Be very wary…'

"Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious-"

Draco placed a chaste kiss on the ward's cheek, effectively silencing her.

"Andromeda," he began, glancing around for Granger but not seeing her. He felt uncharacteristically anxious. "Andromeda, I have to tell you my… feelings. I…"

"Draco."

He was thrown. Andromeda had only ever called him Malfoy. She took the opportunity to close the gap. Her hair was soft and fine under his fingers. It was short-lived but afterwards he grasped her hand, entwining their fingers. Let it be realised: Draco Lucius Malfoy had fallen for a squib.

"_And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?_" murmured Hermione quietly, before rounding the statue, and making her presence known.

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	7. Chap 7

**Part seven: Acaste Fawcett.**

Hermione managed to sleep in her own bed without mishap that night. When she awoke, it was Andromeda who came to her door. Malfoy had been called away on business again and though he had left instruction that she should not venture out to the garden again and particularly not go near any quidditch equipment, she was free to explore the manor if she wanted to, and breakfast would of course be served in the lounge.

Hermione studied the ward while they ate. She looked much happier, and Hermione noticed that though she was wearing her habitual black, underneath there was a flash of green, which somehow denoted her newfound happiness. This happiness she carried quietly and elegantly, as was her wont, and Hermione realised a strong respect for her. The ward quietly pandered to Narcissa, urging her to eat a piece of toast, which the frail, pale hand could barely bring herself to lift, before selecting a book from a pile on the round table and seating herself on the black floor cushion.

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young man in the possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife_."

Hermione deliberated whether or not to stay in the warm lounge, to see whether Andromeda had the same gift for reading prose as she had for poetry, but found herself drawn to the library. Since as a muggle-born herself she had read 'Pride and Prejudice' many times over, she reasoned that she couldn't be missing too much.

She ventured out into the entrance hall alone. It was draughty and poorly lit this morning as when Malfoy was out the women usually remained in one room to read. Hermione was just wondering how to get to the library when a house elf appeared next to her and proceeded to show her a short-cut, rushing ahead of her into the room to light the lamps and stoke up the fires.

Hermione stood in the 'A' section, wondering how to go about this. What did she want to know about? Well, a great many things, but she had to contain herself here and be sensible. The house elf re-appeared and after asking if that was all she needed and to snap her fingers if she needed refreshment, it picked up a book that someone had left on a small corner table and to Hermione's horror threw it into the air. However, the book did not fall, but darted back to the bookshelf it belonged on. Satisfied, the house elf gave her some privacy. 'Well that solves that question,' thought Hermione.

It really was a remarkable room, though the dusty hush was slightly disturbing. She decided, as she browsed, taking her time to scan the titles, occasionally pulling out a book and inspecting it, that what she really wanted to know about was the Malfoy family, and above all the house she was standing in. It was unlikely that she would be able to research that topic while Malfoy was shadowing her. When she reached the 'M' section, however, she was disappointed.

There was no segment labelled 'Malfoy'. There was nothing labelled 'Purebloods', though plenty of books about other old wizarding families such as the Snapes, the Potters (surprisingly) and of course the Blacks. She shrunk the main books on these families and slipped them into her pocket to look at later.

She wandered for a couple of hours, reading and browsing.

"The basilisk may be cultivated for the Dark purpose but only controlled by few talented parselmouths. It is unlikely that any other than the Dark Lord now carries this gift. After the death of the noble Salazar Slytherin, the gift was lost for seven generations before it was found again in Charles Fawcett, fourth cousin to Tomas Norvini Riddle, three or four generations previous of the birth of the Dark Lord. Other records of such a passing of the gift of serpent's tongue have been lost."

"In the brewing of this potion, never forget Adulphos Diggle, who after misusing a polyjuice potion remained in the image of his un-favoured acquaintance Edward Bungle, until his death under the second unforgivable on the 13th June 1723, whereupon he resumed his true image and the error of the attack was realised but too late."

"Though the sport of muggle-baiting has died out with the increased half-blood marriages preferred to 'unnecessary' deaths as argued by one Alastor Dumbledore, whose morals have continued down to his eighteenth generation Albus Dumbledore, the 'esteemed' headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, this law continues to be contested by purebloods over the years, argued as a most noble of wizard sports and little different in context to the sport of fox hunting, enjoyed by muggles themselves and also contested in their own world." (Hermione didn't like that passage.)

Hermione came to the seating area she and Malfoy had practiced Transfiguration in the previous day. The textbook they had hoped to get some tips from was still open. She smiled. It was very clear that Malfoy was determined to be the best when it came to showcasing their talents back at school. After a while shooting sparks randomly had been rather boring, considering they were admittedly rather gifted students, so Malfoy had suggested duelling. He has sworn on all his broomsticks that he wouldn't think of anything to permanently harm his guest. They had come at each other, using their minds to control what came out of their wands rather than their voices, but it was hard. Malfoy had got annoyed in the end. He had just managed to levitate Hermione a few feet, which was rather impressive, when she countered it with a rictusempra and he'd gone sprawling into a bookcase.

Hermione one, Malfoy nil.

Debating whether to un-shrink the books she had in her pocket and read up on the Potters, Hermione glanced around idly, before her gaze locked on a tapestry. There was something compelling about it. It showed another Malfoy family tree, and she would gave dismissed it if she hadn't noticed a slight bulge near the threads marking a link to someone in the Black family. She did not hesitate before boldly pulling back the tapestry to reveal a shiny wooden door, with a black handle in the shape of a snake tail. A plaque with curly writing simply proclaimed 'Malfoy'. Aha. It had to be here somewhere.

"Alohamora!"

_"Don't unlock doors here, Granger," said Malfoy, turning round. "Just don't do it."_

Oh well.

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The door opened inwards to a surprisingly barren room. It was full of books and a few dusty velvet-covered boxes, but devoid of the ornate decoration to be enjoyed in the rest of the house. There was an ancient portrait of a blonde man on one wall. Hermione entered cautiously.

"Oh. A visitor," said the portrait in a bored tone, the Malfoy drawl almost painful to the ear. "Tell me, madam, what year is this?"

"Er, it's 2003, sir," said Hermione, alarmed as the door closed itself behind her.

"It is not possible that _you_ are a Malfoy," said the man, leaning forward in the frame to get a better look at her, though the lamp that had lit when she entered was not allowing very much light to see by. "You _are_ a pureblood I presume?"

"I am," lied Hermione, "I am a…" Weasley? Oh no, not Weasley… er… Potter? God, no! Fawcett? Fletcher? Parkinson? "A Black. I am Hermione Black."

"Ah. Had I the means, dear girl, I would kiss your hand. But as it is, well."

"I am honoured," said Hermione awkwardly.

"And what, pray answer, does a girl of Black descent seek within these ugly walls?" asked the man despondently, mildly curious.

"Knowledge," said Hermione. Well, that part wasn't a lie.

"Ah, the key to the past, present and future," murmured the picture. "My sincere apologies, one has forgotten oneself after so little contact. There was a time when young Lucius visited constantly, but I hear from the portrait of my cousin Rubella that hangs in the dining room, that he has gone away. My name is Acaste Fawcett."

"You're not a Malfoy?" said Hermione incredulously, interested at once.

"Good gads no!" boomed the portrait, making her start, "I was born in 1549. Our families were deeply connected then. I lived in this very house, dear girl. I expect my bones lie somewhere under the battlements… If they still have battlements in this age," he finished, doubtfully.

"In some places they do," said Hermione, sitting down on the cold stone floor before the large picture. "They do at my school, at Hogwarts."

"Ah." Acaste looked at her for a moment. "What is the knowledge you seek, Miss Black?"

"Um, I'm not really sure."

"I suggest being sure of what you wish to know before asking a question."

"Oh! Well, since I've been in this house, I've been wondering a lot of things. You see, some of the gardens that were used before are now locked, and there's hardly anybody in the house. I unlocked the door to come in here."

"That door is always locked."

"Oh."

"What is your question?" asked the portrait, sounding bored again.

"I'm not sure. I was just wondering about the history of the people who live here and about the closed off parts of the house. We're not meant to talk about any of that, you see."

"I do not see," drawled the painting, leaning back in his chair and staring at the top corner of the frame. "Why on earth one would wish to conceal knowledge is beyond me. Knowledge is learning, Miss Black, and learning breeds power. No doubt they tell you that at your school. Pray, do you live in the house?"

"No, though it is a very handsome building, sir. I am here as Draco Malfoy's guest."

"Oh, so it's like _that_," said Acaste, rudely, "and you need not flatter the portraits here, dear child. We above anyone know that this is not a handsome house. It is deceptively beautiful. This is not a house to be called handsome."

"Oh. May I ask why not?"

"You may."

There was a pause. The portrait blinked at Hermione. "Er… why not?"

"Miss Black, possibly you are an intelligent witch. But perhaps you are wasting my time with these unintelligent questions. Little wonder then that you feel so affronted by being locked out of rooms so much that you must go charming them open. May I ask _you_ a question? Has it not occurred to you, for all your exploration, that a door locked in this house does not exist to keep you out, but to keep others _in_?"

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Hermione sat on the stone floor with a map like a blueprint open on her lap. It showed the layout of Malfoy Manor, as she assumed it truly was. Little crosses in the corner of several squares denoted a room that was locked. There were many of these. As she had seen on The Marauders' Map, little dots showed the house elves, the housekeeper, Andromeda, and Narcissa. The latter two were still in the lounge.

Many of the rooms were marked: kitchens, scullery, entrance hall, ballroom (large and locked), master's study, etc. Hermione was not looking at these. On the map, on the floor above that holding her bedroom and Malfoy's, was a set of stairs that she had never approached. The lamps in that direction were never lit, and she had dismissed the floor and attic above as what Malfoy had described as now unused.

However.

There were house elves moving in these rooms, as if cleaning. Hermione was no fool. She had realised long ago that it was indeed true –house elves did live to clean. But cleaning unused rooms she could tell would be a stupid task even for the most devoted cleaner to undertake. They were labelled oddly, these rooms: chained room, guest quarter (now not used for guests, apparently), three 'studies', brewing room, hawk room, low room, spirit room, etc. They were confusing. There seemed to be passageways marked with thin lines through the walls, behind bookcases, mirrors and even wardrobes. Hermione felt Acaste's gaze on the top of her head and thought that maybe she had pried too far. She turned her attention to the gardens, which as a network imitating rooms were also named: roses, the centaur, three serpents… swinging garden. Hermione paused. If she had worked it out correctly, the swinging garden reflected the location of the garden Malfoy had so securely locked.

"Look in the library." Acaste's voice made her jump. She glanced back and noticed that Malfoy had just entered and would probably come to the seating area to look for her. Glancing at her watch she saw it was nearly two, and that he must have come back from the meeting in time for lunch.

As Hermione rolled up the map, she was certain that out of the corner of her eye she saw a name appear in the swinging garden.

If she had had time to check, and not passed it off as a trick of the light, she would have registered the name 'Emillina Fawcett'.

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	8. Chap 8 last one

**Part eight: Come Back, Mother.**

Draco grabbed Hermione by the wrist, somewhat painfully. "That's twenty, Granger. Even you can count."

They were holed up in the dungeons and had been so all day, a plate of sandwiches almost emptied between them. There were three days left of their strange arrangement at the manor, and that included the one that was going by so quickly today. After not making much homework progress the previous day after Malfoy had found his guest 'just browsing' in the library, they had both had a sudden fear that if they didn't devote as much time to their Potions and Transfiguration homework as possible for the remaining stay, they would not be joint top-of-the-class anymore. That did not bear thinking about to either party. After some deliberation, they had decided to work on one of the two remaining potions until they had deciphered what it was, and then devote the rest of the day to silent magic.

What Draco did not know, and the reason Hermione had not paid attention to the number of stirs in the revealing-potion they were desperately brewing, was that after dinner, when he had been occupied with the charms of his mother's ward, she had returned to the library. More specifically, she had returned to talk to Acaste.

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"There's someone in the garden!"

"I know," said Acaste, dully, closing his eyes as if to attempt an end to the conversation.

"Who's Emillina?"

Acaste opened his eyes. The paint had altered to a dull red. He edged as close to the front of the painting as possible. Flinty grey eyes turned dark and sad. "Oh, my daughter!" he moaned hoarsely, "Oh! My Emillina!"

Hermione felt a prickling sensation on her shoulders, between the blades, and shuddered involuntarily. The dot on the map flickered in and out of focus, neither here nor there, as if blowing in and out with the wind…

"My sweet Emillina," said Acaste, all proud dignity and inherited arrogance falling from his aristocratic shoulders. "She died falling from a swing…"

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"Why did you lock the garden?" said Hermione, abruptly.

Malfoy dropped his spatula with a clunk and fixed a sharp eye on her. "Why?"

"I was just thinking about it, that's all."

"It was my mother's garden," said Draco, shrugging off any creeping doubts and addressing some roots on the bench in front of him. "She shut it when father… was locked up. She hates it. She never wants it opened again. We didn't even let the ministry touch it when they raided for spirits and dark influence last year. Not that there ever was anything to fear in there. Just her imaginary friend 'Emillina' she 'played with' when she was little. The Black family used to have some relatives living here for a while. Apparently she courted my father in there… Anyway, she locked it."

Hermione concentrated on stirring: clockwise, now anticlockwise, and clockwise for ten to finish. Some secrets a family needs to keep within their own four walls.

"Okay," said Malfoy, with a frustrated sigh, "that should be it. Consistency…good… colour…hmm well it will suffice."

"The colour of a revealing potion doesn't really matter, you know."

"Doesn't matter!" exclaimed Draco, highly affronted, "Granger, do you take the same class as me? Potion making is _not_ some vulgar science, where the only subjects that matter are those that give you satisfactory result! Potion making is an art! Do you think _Snape_ disregards colours when he mixes a deadly concoction?"

"You're really into potions, aren't you?" said Hermione, tipping some of the potion into a vial and corking it before shaking it vigorously. "I've been watching you, Malfoy. You really care about this."

"Granger, potions are the most subtle and the oldest form of magic that exists on this earth."

"Do you want to be a potions teacher?"

"You must be bonkers. Snape was a fool to accept that job, and if he hadn't been so indebted to Dumbledore I have no doubt that he would have refused it. But yes, potions could be an option. I fully intend to 'put a stopper in death' one of these days."

Hermione smiled softly, as Malfoy added a drop of revealing potion to a small drip of the potion they were meant to be investigating. "I remember that lesson. I remember Harry and Snape having their first face-off. From that moment I just knew that all us Gryffindors would be doomed in that class."

"And you have Potter to thank," said Malfoy distractedly, most of this attention set on the changing concoction before him. When it seemed stable again he leaned back to browse the bookshelf before selecting a book an turning the pages to find a potion with characteristics matching those they had already discovered in conjunction with the revealing potion.

Hermione did not deign to respond to his comment, but said dubiously, "I still think this is cheating."

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her: "Slytherin."

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"Mother? We're making good progress with our potions, excellent I believe. I really think I can master basic mute magic now," Draco was talking to a shadow. A waif. Hermione paused by the door of the lounge. She had just come down from talking to Acaste, but he hadn't been very responsive. He thought she was a nosy girl. Perhaps she was. Peeping round the door she registered Malfoy trying to tell his mother what they'd been up to all week, trying to elicit a response from her. Well, keep trying. "Mother? Mother won't you speak to me? Won't you come back now?"

Narcissa made a low hum from the back of her throat and motioned for Andromeda to close the heavy curtains. There had been no owls on the horizon today. "When is he coming back?" she asked, hopefully, ignoring her son who slumped immediately. Her voice was thin and reedy, so tired though she spent the whole day doing nothing at all. Her wedding ring was loose on her finger because she was so thin.

"Soon, soon," said Andromeda gently, glancing at Malfoy. His expression was stricken with pain. Slowly all the pureblooded children seemed to be losing their parents. His mother was a stranger to him. He felt as much an orphan as the ward who was taking his arm and steering him onto the sofa.

Hermione withdrew. She had already eaten so perhaps it would be better if she went to bed now. Calling to the house elf who was extinguishing the lamps in the hall, she proceeded to do just that.

But Hermione could not sleep. She lay in bed listening to how still the house was. A sleeping doom. Acaste had been right: this place was deceptively beautiful, when really it was filled with that kind of gnawing emptiness that eats you up from the inside and makes you into a shell. Like Narcissa was becoming a shell. It saddened her. This was a place she had expected discourtesy, maltreatment, misery… but she had been met with civility, and even though she couldn't believe she had any kind of bond or friendship with Malfoy, there had been a little progress made. She wanted to do something for him.

"Lumos!"

Hermione was standing on the brink of the cold landing. There was a strip of light under Malfoy's door and the soft murmur of voices. He was up with Andromeda.

"Accio Silver Arrow!"

The broom glided towards her out of the darkness and she grabbed it quickly before shutting herself in her room again and bolting the door. Right. Now for the tricky part. Hermione Granger was either about to be very brave, or very stupid. Whichever, she needed to swallow some courage for what she'd decided to do. But she had an acute feeling that it would be the only way.

She knew vaguely where the garden was but didn't feel very safe at all as she glided unsteadily over the maze of hedges, walls and gates. The swinging garden had that very distinctive tree, but that was hard to pick out, even under the beam of 'lumos maximus'. Hermione was not having fun. Hunting owls swooped down from the turret of the manor and brushed the top of her head with their wings as if trying to scare her on purpose. The statues below glowed eerily silver in the light cast by her wand and the moon, which was large and low.

She had taken the broom because after the door had been so firmly locked she wasn't sure whether she would be able to open it again. That thought had pained the smartest witch of her age, but she had always been able to take criticism from herself and she did. Landing within the garden with little mishap, she glanced about and shuddered. It was a still and strange place during the day. At night, the flowers were closed and the vines connecting them glimmered purple and grey, sparkling with dew. Hermione gripped the broom tightly to her side when she heard the distinct creaking of the ancient swing. It made her feet and ankles feel colder, then her knees, which trembled, slowly working the way up to her heart and then to her throat. She was so nervous and excited and terrified that she had to keep herself from throwing up.

"Emillina?" she whispered.

The tree before her creaked and whistled in the breeze. Hermione gulped.

"Emillina-oh!" Hermione turned a terrible shade of beige, eyes wide and horrified: sitting on the swing before her there was a little girl! She had long hair set in pigtails and a sallow, sour expression. Strangely, Hermione's first thought was that had she been living, it would have been an awful tragedy that she had not been played with in a long, long time. "I- _Are_ you Emillina?" said Hermione, stupidly. The child fixed her with a glare that seemed to pass right through her and started swinging. Creak, creak, creak. It was hauntingly surreal. Hermione reined in her desire to vomit and decided just to talk as fast as possible.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come in here so often when I don't belong here, but I needed to talk to you. I need you to play with Narcissa Malfoy, I mean Black, again. You do remember her, don't you?" The apparition flickered and fizzled out for a second before reappearing and concentrating on the swing again. Hermione jumped, desperate to return to her bed. "Of course you do. She's very unhappy. Please listen, she can't see her own son anymore, even though he's so nice to her, and loves her. She doesn't talk to anyone anymore and I was hoping maybe you could talk to her again and get her to remember him." Hermione was babbling and she had to stop herself. She didn't even know if the spirit _could_ hear her, let alone whether she wanted to listen to her pitiful plea or not. "I know this is your garden but if you could just see her at the house… I think she would listen to you."

"Go away, go away, go away…"

It was a low, dead voice. A hollow voice of a child who has had no companion for so long that she can't bear the company even when it is offered.

"But! Emillina…"

"I told you to GO AWAY!"

Hermione fled.

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Two days left at the Manor, one really as this was their last full day of work. The next would be cut short by travelling back to Hogwarts.

Hermione was exhausted. After her encounter with the dead little girl, which she _never ever_ wanted to repeat, she had flown straight back to her room without looking to the side once for fear of any more spirits, and once in her room had shut the window that she had escaped from as firmly as possible and dived under the covers. She had stayed there until Malfoy had knocked on her door the following morning, thankfully in a dreamless sleep.

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Two days to go at Malfoy Manor. One, really, as tomorrow they would have to leave after lunch and start making the long and tedious journey back to school.

Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she liked to believe now that something fundamental had changed in the relationship between herself and the pale aristocrat, but on the other she suspected that things probably wouldn't be so very different, if at all, on their return to Hogwarts. They were both stubborn as each other, consciously aware of the expectations of their very different social groups, and in their own ways rather proud, sometimes disagreeable people. Perhaps they had found out from this little experiment, that they were not so wholly different after all. She hoped that Malfoy had learnt that no, she was not filth, no, she should not be called a 'Mudblood', and yes, she had her good points too, just as she had started to see his. And to understand the haughty boy (almost a man) who was sitting before her now, calmly eating his breakfast whilst perusing The Daily Prophet, one ear to his mother's ward who was reciting Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven' to the assembled company in a voice as smooth as treacle but with more expression than a work by Van Gogh.

"_Quoth the raven: 'Nevermore_.'"

Hermione sat on her red and gold chair in the Malfoy's lounge, thinking about all she had learnt about Malfoy and his strange family, strange house, and above all terrifyingly strange gardens in the week she had spent here. Almost a week. One day to go. She cast a searching glance over Narcissa. The frail woman with only half her wits was unchanged despite Hermione's desperate and somewhat meddling attempts to reclaim her for her son. She was, as ever, sitting staring out of the window, her cold feet pointed towards the fireplace, a plate with the evidence of uneaten toast precariously balanced on a bony knee. No answer had she made when her son had bid her painfully 'good morning'.

Hermione wanted to shake her. Shake her, and tell her 'Look! He is your _son_! You can't shut him out forever, _do something_!'

Narcissa gazed on, vacantly, hope dying from her eyes with every minute that passed. She would wake up every morning knowing that today, _this_ day, she would see His owl coming over the top of the poplar trees, and He would be free. But when she went to bed at night, she would have been let all the way down, all over again.

Despite the quiet gloom that seemed o be creeping over the manor, Hermione passed a surprisingly pleasant day. In the morning Malfoy took her flying for the last time. She felt safe riding on the air with him nearby. Her nemesis: why his presence had become so comforting she didn't know. Seeing him at home had made her realise that if anyone had a reason for bitterness, this boy did. Though slightly wobbly flying back, passing over the garden she had so rudely awakened last night and apparently to no consequence, Hermione would later say proudly to herself that she had never flown better.

The afternoon found the two students firstly in the dungeon, where they managed to solve the last of their potions with surprising ease (yes, they used a revealing potion to validate results, but what could Hermione say? Maybe in this house, it was okay to cheat). They then moved up to the library to hone their mute magic again, determined to come top in Transfiguration if it was that last thing they did. They excelled.

Hermione sat in the library alone. Malfoy and Andromeda were having some 'alone time'. They made a wonderful picture together. Hermione wandered about for a while, returning the books she had borrowed and browsing the advanced magic sections. She returned to the table they had been working at earlier and sat down. Picking up a quill she brushed the bottom of her chin with it absentmindedly. Now: where to begin?

'_Dear Ron,_

_Yes I am so jealous that I didn't get to go to Romania! But you know, I haven't had such a bad time here, actually. Malfoy has been quite polite to me and the house is very interesting. Don't worry; he hasn't done anything to me. _

_I can tell by your letter that you and Seamus haven't done the potions! Well, they were quite hard but I'll help you with them if you want. How are you? I hope you didn't get hurt riding on dragons! My goodness Ron, you might've been killed! But I hope you found out which one was Norbert, and that he's okay. It seems like yesterday that we handed him over to Charlie's friends, do you remember? We got detention for being out of bed and I think Malfoy did too. _

_I'm sorry this reply is so late, but no, Malfoy didn't hold my letters hostage! I wish I could have come to meet you in Diagon Alley (and Harry too) but there's no floo network here anymore. I can't really tell you all about this place in a letter but I suspet your dad knows something about it. When I see you at Hogwarts I'll tell you all about it. _

_I know we go back to school tomorrow, but I was hoping you'd get this tonight. I was wondering if maybe you want to go to the next Hogsmeade weekend with me? As in me and not Harry too. Sorry, I'm not very good that this._

_What I'm trying to say, Ron is that I really **like** you and I've been thinking about it a lot since I got your letter. If you **like** me too, maybe you'll tell me so at school? _

_This is a ridiculous-sounding letter but I'll post it anyway,_

_All my love, _

_Hermione x'_

Hermione summoned a house elf to go to the turret and send off the letter before she changed her mind. She felt a little worried, but somehow relieved at the same time. When she had calmed down she made sure no one was around by doing a search charm and ducked into the 'Malfoy' section to say goodbye to Acaste.

"Oh, it's Miss Black. How do you today?"

"Very well, sir. How do you?"

"Exceeding ill, child. You have come to tell me you are going away. You need not now; I've already had it from Gabriella Black who hangs in the kitchen. I suppose that is why you came by again?"

"It was, sir."

"Hmmpf. I may swap frames with dear Gabriella for a while. It is so dull to hang in such a room as this. Who will visit me now that young Malfoy and yourself are to go away again?"

"Do you ever wish you didn't hang in this house?"

"Good gads no! Haven't you learnt, Miss Black, that heritage, is more important to family even than the people living at the moment. As long as we have heritage, you know, our ancestors will never truly die. I hope that I sit testament to that."

"I have learnt it, sir. I will hold you in high respect for all of my days."

"Then I think we are finished here. Fare thee well, madam. We will not meet again."

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"Draco?"

So soft at first, they did not hear it.

"Draco? My son, Draco?"

In slow motion, Malfoy raised his eyes from the chessboard and stared at his mother's trickling eyes. "Pardon?" it was a whisper, not to be believed.

"Are you home, Draco? My beautiful boy! Oh Draco, I have been in darkness! Where have you been?" Narcissa struggled to get up but weakness was ever her manacle.

Andromeda's mouth dropped open in a fascinated horror. Draco rose slowly and walked over to the large armchair. "Do you know me, mother? Speak again."

Hermione's eyes grew imperceptibly wider. Behind Narcissa's chair she thought she saw a little girl.

Such a smiling little girl was never seen. The happiest little girl ever to have been made ghostly. Emillina offered Hermione a wink and stepped out of the room through the bookcase. Hermione jumped at Andromeda's touch on her arm, meeting the big black eyes streaming with silently relieved tears. "We should go."

Looking back, Hermione would always remember seeing Malfoy raising his mother's hands to kiss them. And this time, she did not look away from him.

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The bags were packed and on the doorstep waiting to be hauled into the wobbling Knight Bus, and the two brightest students of their age stood on the top step of Malfoy Manor.

The girl, who was neat, muggle-born and with brown bushy hair, stood a little apart from the rest, quietly, pondering the effect a short letter would have had on a hopeful red-headed boy who was standing outside his house with a startled grin on his face, about two hundred and fifty miles away.

The boy, with perfectly tailored robes and shockingly blond hair, was kissing his mother's hand. It was a huge achievement that this act was even possible. He would never know whom he had to thank for it.

The boy turned to his mother's ward, waiting demurely next in line, unsure of the proper way to act in such a situation until the boy in question threw all caution and propriety to the wind and kissed her in a most tender fashion.

None of them saw a little girl, sitting on the top of the nearest hedgerow, waiting for her playmate to come back to the garden they shared.

The Knight Bus lurched away.

Just before they disapparated, bus and all, to a farmhouse in Wales to pick up old Madam Marsh from her sister's, Hermione looked back at the house. Hundreds of windows, and a single turret, the façade to conceal ancient horror passed from generations: there stood that one place she would never go back to.

Malfoy Manor: _Deceptively Beautiful._

THE END.

* * *

**I hope you all liked this! It's my baby I've been nurturing it 'til I thought it was as perfect as it was gunna get. Bit of an odd idea I know, but I'm hoping there aren't too many other fics on the same theme as this one. **

**(Anyone know what I should do next?) **

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a contribution in the little box!**

love, skinnyrita xx


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